


An Exchange of Letters

by deanau



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Pining Newt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-09-15 09:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9228074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanau/pseuds/deanau
Summary: Newt misses Tina dreadfully. His owl wishes he'd stop moping - flying back and forth across the ocean isn't his favourite thing to do.But Newt has a plan, and he just has to spell it out and hope it works.





	1. The First Letter

**Author's Note:**

> My first FB fic, and it's just a fluff fest. ;)

 

 

He'd been beside himself, as he'd boarded the ship. Admonishing himself, thoughts like _"I should have kissed her"_ and _"Why didn't I just kiss her?"_ thrumming against his skull with every leaden step.

He'd paused. But whilst Newt was a brave man - his recent actions had more than proved that - he was not a charming man. Unless being charmingly awkward (and stilted, and uncomfortable, he'd thought) was a thing, and Newt was sure that it was not. So, however regretfully, he'd marched ahead without so much as a backward glance at Tina. Bravery that came so fearlessly when fighting notorious dark wizards had dissipated when it came to kissing a girl, let alone an impassioned gesture in which he'd stayed, even just a little while longer.

 

And she'd waited, heart in her mouth as he'd stopped, mid-stride, gangly legs scrunching and releasing. And how it had fallen through her chest and far into her stomach when he'd continued. Tina admonished herself, too: _"You can't fall for him, you're the career girl you're not Queenie-"_ before she too had scrunched and released, her eyelids shutting out the light momentarily.

She took a deep breath, pulled herself up to her full height. And dove headfirst into the midday thrum of Manhattan.

 

Returning home had been painful.

Newt had sat on his case, knees cradled in his arms, brought too tightly into his chest.

Tina had sat at her desk, worn brown loafers scuffing idly against the floorboards as she'd tried to fill her mind with work.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Newt had woken early. A habit he'd picked up when travelling - he'd been partial to watching the sunrise before feeding his myriad creatures. He'd left the solitude of the cabin for the comfort of his case, and was greeted by familiarity.

As soon as he'd settled, watching the moon calves dip around one another to eat, Pickett strode out from under his collar and crossed his tiny, leaf-like arms, fixing Newt with a hardy stare.

"Ah, well, come on now Pickett."

The bowtruckle continued to glare, unblinking.

"All right, maybe I am moping. It's none of your business, anyway, you know."

Pickett raised an eyebrow, and tapped his foot on Newt's forearm.

"Pickett, Pick, my moping does not concern you."

Turning on his heel, Pickett made a very small "Hmph!" sound, before retreating to the warmth of Newt's woollen collar.

Exasperated, Newt ran a hand through his unruly mop of hair, and tugged anxiously at his clumsily-knit scarf. His feet, usually pointed outwards, turned in at the toes. Pulling in his splayed legs, he stood.

Pickett was right (not that he'd admit that) - he was moping, and he had creatures to tend to.

The blow of a foghorn drew him from his reverie. Thoughts of Tina forgotten for the time being, Newt straightened his bow-tie, fixed his coat so that it hung straight, and busied himself with his beasts.

 

The blow of a foghorn woke Tina at an ungodly hour. Brushing her short hair from a sleep-sweaty face, she reached instinctively for her wand, and pulled her nightgown tighter about her person.

A whispered "Lumos" brought her face to face with Queenie.

"Queenie! What are you doing? You terrified me!"

"Sorry, sweetie. You don't look well, doll."

"And the best way to check was to scare me to death?" Tina rounded on Queenie, shock becoming anger, anger becoming confusion.

"I didn't think, I'm sorry."

"Still not okay, Queenie!"

"Your dreams, they was all over the place. I didn't want you to have to suffer no more."

"Oh." Tina paused.

"Weird stuff, honey. Real weird." Queenie trailed off, confusion marring her face.

"I'm sure it's nothing." Tina forcibly relaxed herself, and brought down her wand.

Turning down Queenie's heartfelt offer of tea, then hot cocoa, she'd made her way back to her bed and tried to settle in.

 

* * *

 

 

Newt's arrival in London was understated. He'd gently, reverently, put the case down at the door, before opening all of the windows in his small flat. The smell of the bakery underneath (local owner, squib with an unnatural talent for confectionery) wafted in, ushering out the musty scent of disuse.

Used to being alone, Newt set about documenting his trip: taking his papers from the journey and recounting the adventure. Upon noting that Frank had not been released in Arizona, as had been his intention, a wave of remorse overwhelmed him. But they had, together, succeeded in something marvellous, so he could not feel too upset by the prospect.

Newt pinched the bridge of his nose, and scratched behind his ear. He'd found friendship for the first time since Leta - _do not think about that_ \- and he wished he could settle back into solitude. Every wave of chatter passing through the window, carried on the wind from below, made him long for Jacob's broad smile and cheerful laugh; for Queenie's high-pitched giggle and wide eyes; and, perhaps worst of all, for Tina's ... Well, Tina's everything.

Sighing, he drew a new piece of parchment, and placed it atop the small pile of his recently accumulated work. Dipping his occamy-feathered quill into a messy pot of ink, he began to write:

 

_Dear Tina,_ he started, before crossing out 'Dear' and replacing it with 'Hello'.

_Hello Tina,_

_I hope this letter finds you well._

_I myself have not been home long, but find myself fatigued of London and its cramped streets already. New York was considerably more exciting than I have found home to be for a long time._

_My editor is, however, becoming anxious for the next complete chapter of my book. It is to be entitled 'Magical Beasts in Hiding', as I plan to discuss Frank and his newfound freedom, as well as the numerous habitats hidden in my suitcase. Then I may delve into the potential of using swooping evil venom as a form of memory charm, though I fear I may digress into an enthusiastic tangent. But I suppose that is why I have an editor._

_I must apologise if the sending of this letter seems forward. It seems that I may, perhaps, miss you, just a little bit._

_How is Jacob? Has he shown any signs of recognition - indeed, have you attempted to reach him?_

 

Newt paused, quill held halfway to his mouth as he thought. He'd seen muggles use pens, and he thought he rather liked the idea of those. He couldn't really hold a quill in his mouth.

He'd had an idea. It was bold, for him - but it would take time, and could be revoked if he changed his mind, or if she did not seem eager at the prospect. He smiled, and it was a slow, wavering thing - hope unfurled like a flower inside of him.

He continued:

 

_By the time this reaches you, it will have been more than the mere few days than it is at the time of writing. I live above a squib (charming fellow, actually) and he has oft offered me the use of his owl. Big creature, large wingspan, but dopey - incredibly dopey - so I'm wholly expecting him to take a wrong turn across the Atlantic somewhere. Probably a somewhat longer trip than he's used to, but I wouldn't send him if I didn't have faith in him._

_I apologise - I'm raMbling. How's work? Have you been reinstated as an auror? I do hope that you have._

_Is Queenie okay? Is she missing Jacob?_

 

He re-read what he could of the letter, but his loping scrawl made it illegible in parts. His 'M's and 'W's often appeared to be the same, as went for 'S's, 'J's, and 'I's. Shaking his head, he decided it was probably fine.

 

_Yours,_

_Newt._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely response to this story!

 

Tina's week had been hectic. From being briefed in regards to her returning to the fight against Grindelwald, to the discovery of Percival Graves, she'd hardly had a minute to take pause. The arrival of a letter penned in an unrecognisable, rambling hand did not help her to relax - at least, until she read it.

  
She broke the waxen seal adorning the back of the envelope cautiously. There was no return address, so she could not glean any clues from that. The owl knew where to take it, should it return undelivered.

  
A broad smile broke out across her face as she began to read, dissolving the frown she'd worn for the last few days. Newt tended to have that effect on her, she'd found, even in the short time they'd spent in each other's company. She'd become transfixed by him: worryingly so. But this was the least of her concerns, compared to what was happening outside of her short-lived romance. (Could it be called a romance? It was not even a courtship, not really. Tina doubted it, but she liked to think so, nonetheless.) Becoming besotted was nothing in comparison to the capture of Gellert Grindelwald.

  
She'd been asked to step up once more as a member of the investigative team, based solely on her part in Grindelwald's capture, and her prior impertinence had been forgiven. He was now under constant surveillance, which owed a great deal to Tina's exhaustion.

  
However unimportant she may deem Newt in comparison, he was still currently crucial to her happiness - entirely of his own accord. With her increased workload, she'd had little time to think of him; yet in those rare moments of quiet, he filled her thoughts. She'd tried to shake him away, to beat him off into the dusty far corners of her mind, but always he prevailed, triumphant.

  
Queenie had tried diligently to convince her that liking Newt was not a bad thing: in fact, it was something of a breakthrough for Tina.

  
"He's good for you, Teenie," she'd murmured late on night when Tina had stormed in, head teeming with thoughts of work, of Grindelwald and Graves, battling the thoughts of Newt desperately trying to surface. "You shouldn't try to conceal it. Let yourself accept him, honey."

  
"I can't, don't you understand?" Tina had hissed.

  
"I do," Queenie said sadly, quietly, her head downcast.

  
But when the letter had arrived, her joy could not be contained. Steadying herself, she sat, and tried to detail the events of the past week.

 

_Newt,_

  
_Your correspondence has been greatly appreciated. Much has happened here - some of which I cannot go into great detail about, due to the tricky nature of the subjects at hand._

  
_But you were involved; thus, you deserve to know. Grindelwald has not, as of yet, evaded capture. However, this means that I have been on duty for a dramatically increased number of hours - yes, I have been bumped up from Wand Permit Officer back to Auror (for which I am incredibly, enormously grateful). Percival Graves has also been found, and the beginning of his rehabilitation is proving to be rather strenuous and difficult. I cannot go into detail, but he was found in a most unpleasant manner. I must agree that New York sounds somewhat more exciting than London, but my knowledge is based solely your information (well, and my own assumptions)._

 

Tina leant back in her chair, quill placed neatly next to her roll of parchment. The tips of her shoes caught her as she went too far, before she shuffled forwards, and repeated the process as she thought. In an attempt to not seem too forward, she had kept her writing formal, lest she appear improper -

  
"Newt wouldn't mind, sweet! Naw, you're just worried about seeming too keen." Queenie giggled, her voice like wind chimes in a light sea breeze.

  
Tina was decidedly unimpressed, despite Queenie's sweet laugh. _Stop reading my mind!_ She exclaimed mentally, aiming the thought directly at her sister.

  
"Sorry, hon."

  
Aggravated, Tina began to flick the pale, beige feathers of the quill between the gaps in her fingers, rolling the nib between her thumb and forefinger, carefully, so as to avoid any unwanted ink stains.

 

_As for Jacob,_ she continued, _well - there has been little improvement, yet. I think Queenie is more sad than she cares to admit, and I don't have much desire to press her on the matter. We don't want to be too blatant in our attempts, but I do believe Queenie may try to visit his bakery, when it is all set up. His loan has been approved, though, which is at least something to be glad about. No-Maj finances make little sense to me, and, I imagine, even less to you._

  
_I do hope your book is coming along well. I am most excited to receive a copy - the contents of your case has made me rethink my initial attitude towards magical creatures entirely. Maybe they are enchanting, rather than dangerous. I shall have to wait to find out conclusively, I suppose._

  
She smiled.

  
_I may, perhaps, possibly, slightly, maybe, miss you a little bit, too. You're a strange one, Newt Scamander._

  
_How are your creatures? Did they notice the travel, being as they're in that case? If so, are they glad to be home? If not, are you?_

  
_Tina_

  
_P.S. I thought the owl was sweet. Please give my regards to your squib friend._

  
_P.P.S. He's just nipped me. I revoke the above regards._

 

Tina scanned back through Newt's letter to see if she'd neglected to reply to any part of it, but found that it was no less illegible the on the second read through. She did pick up on a capital 'W' towards the end that she hadn't picked up on the first time, and it made no sense to her. That could not have been an accident, yet it simply did not fit.

  
She was tempted to call Queenie in, to see if she could make some sort of sense out of it, but she found herself loathe to let her love-lorn younger sister read something of such great personal importance to her. They'd shared everything their whole lives, but Newt's letter was hers - even if he was not.

  
Selfish as it may have been, Tina could not bring herself to ask for a second opinion. Shrugging the letter off as no more than a mistake, she lay her quill down gently, stacking parchment into perfect piles.

  
She languished hopelessly, but set about carefully folding up Newt's letter, as well as her own. The latter she attached to the owl's foot, the first she tucked neatly into a pigeon hole above her desk. She could just imagine Newt hiding numerous hoo-hoos and occamies in the holes, hiding the occasional dropping which fell onto her work, and looking terribly sweetly at her when they misbehaved, hiding ashamedly behind his messy fringe.

  
Dear God, she was smitten.

  
Sending the owl on its way, she sighed.


	3. Chapter 3

  
_Tina,_

  
_I'm_ (here Newt had crossed out a number of words, and done so so thickly that none could be deciphered) _glad that Grindelwald is still under MACUSA's watch. And more so that you have your job back! I didn't like to think of you being stuck doing something you hate. Poor Graves, though - how is he faring?_

  
_Your letter has confirmed my suspicions. New York is infinitely more exiting than London._

  
_And Jacob! It is such a shame that he had to be obliviated. I probably shouldn't tell you this, but I trust you, Tina. Queenie mentioned to me, that last evening, that she had had hopes of a courtship, and eventually perhaps marriage. She was gone. And now he is. It brings me great sadness to think of something so horrible._

  
_So! My beAsts. Yes, they are settled. They didn't notice the travel; it is like another world in my case, for them. And for me, actually, come to think of it. I am happy to hear that I may have influenced your opinion on magical creatures. They aren't dangerous, you see, they just need to be handled sensibly. I should be most glad to deliver a copy to you, when the time comes. The chapter I spoke of last time is finished, as a first draft, at least, and I'm preparing work on the next one: 'Why Magizoology Matters'. The last one was so dense that I feel I may need to cut it down, perhaps just a little, but that is nothing to be worried about. I have split it into five parts, so hopefully that makes it more readable. I don't want to put people off, you see - with it being so important that people learn about these creatures._

  
_If my book helps, even just a little, I will feel I have accomplished something. It may even be worth writing to Theseus about, actually. Oh! I'm so sorry, Tina. I've never told you about Theseus. He's my brother, my older brother. Well-known and very well-to-do within society. A decorated war hero, now, actually. I don't write him often. He didn't approve of my expulsion, and we haven't been as close in the consequent years. Pity, really._

  
_I can't imagine why the owl would have nipped you. He's usually a very charming fellow, if not a little uncertain of himself. I think you're lovely, so_ (this too had been crossed out, but not to the same extent as before. Tina could just make it out) _I'll have a word with him, mind you, that sort of behaviour simply cannot continue._  
_I hope you are well. Write me soon._

  
_Yours,_

  
_Newt._

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Dear Newt,_

  
_I am well. The same cannot be said for Graves, however._

  
_Though I should not be relaying this information, it seems that I trust you, too. You did catch me, after all._

  
_Graves was found wedged into a briefcase, not unlike yours. He'd been forced to fit inside, all cramped. It's taken us weeks to get him to talk - he's so mistrusting, which is understandable, but a little frustrating too. I just want answers! But he'll sit, all pallid, and sip a small cup of coffee now. His fingers look so long, wrapped around a mug, compared to the rest of him. He looks like he's shrunken in on himself. But he's a great Auror, and I have faith in him, and in his recovery. As frustrated as I am by the slow progress of this case, you're right - I would not have coped being stuck in my new-old job. See, I just had to go nosing around for more to do, then, and that only got me into more capers._

  
_Your books sounds to be coming along nicely! It must be boring for you, though, not being outside all of the time, sat at a desk writing about fantastic beasts and where to find them instead of being in the field, observing them, working with them. At least you have your case, I suppose. That must make it easier for you?_

  
_I do agree - you are doing something good. If you've convinced me, you can convince anyone, Mister._

  
_Your brother sounds interesting, but I find you more so. I don't think he should have been so cold in regards to your expulsion. Please, if I may - can I ask why that happened? I know it's a delicate subject, so don't feel that you have to answer me._

  
_The owl has been nicer this time. He's quite sweet, really. Queenie gave him some insect she found in the apartment, and he rather enjoyed that._

  
_Poor Queenie. Poor Jacob. Thank you for telling me. I don't know how to comfort her, but I know how to try. Sometimes I wish I could read her mind. Most of the time I'm glad I can't._

  
_Please reply with due speed - your letters are the highlight of my week._

  
_Yours,_

  
_Tina._

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Dear Tina,_

  
_I - I don't really know what to say. Graves seems to have suffered terribly. Give him time - it's only natural for him to recede back into himself. It's terrible, just terrible. I cannot even imagine what he's going through. I am most glad that you've seen fit to let me in on this, though. I must say that my interest was piqued some weeks ago._

  
_You are terribly nosy. I believe it to be best for the safety of New York that you've been reinstated to your original post._

  
_I suppose it is rather boring, writing instead of doing. But I am finding great joy in being able to put everything down, to free up some space in my head for new findings and adventures. I sometimes fear that I have too much going on in there, and it's good to see solid proof that none of it has floated away during periods of distraction. I feel rather floaty, more often than not, you see. I think that's the biggest diffeRence between myself and Theseus: he's very grounded, and I think he got fed up of trying to keep me down._

  
_I feel I must tell you at some point, about why I was expelled, and this is easier than in person. Graves - well, Grindelwald, I suppose - wasn't lying before, when he said that it was because human life was endangered by a beast. But I, well. I took the fall for Leta. Well, it wasn't as bad as all that. It was my fault, too. I'm getting ahead of myself -_  
_I was in my final year. I was never very popular at school, except for Leta. We were both outcasts, so it made sense that we stayed together. She was a Slytherin (do you know what that means? I have a something of a meagre grasp of the ways of Ilvermorny, so I'll assume that you do of Hogwarts, too) - and I was a Hufflepuff. Don't laugh. It's the best house, really._

  
_We met in our first year, when we'd both snuck out after dark. I was scared of people, when I was eleven, you know. So I wanted to see what creatures there were in the forbidden forest. My mother had bred and cared for hippogriffs my whole life, so I felt more at home with them, and there was a rumour going round that the Care of Magical Creatures professor had some hidden in the forest. He was quite an eccentric fellow, and I rather admired him, actually._

  
_So! I was alone in the forest. Well, I thought I was, anyway. I'm walking along, wand held ahead as though I had any chance in a duel at that age. I'm in my pyjamas, with my robe tucked around me - it was getting on towards winter. Sorry! It seems that when I begin talking I find it rather difficult to stop, or to refrain from rambling, at least._  
_I heard someone crying, so I started to run, following the sound. It was quiet, muffled under the darkness. The stars were blocked out by the foliage, and I stumbled, and quite literally fell onto this tiny girl's lap. She'd covered her face with her hands, but they flew up in surprise when I catapulted onto her._

  
_We were friends, from then on. I took care of her. Never did find those hippogriffs, though._

  
_So when she started to become erratic, pulling more dangerous pranks, I started to have to take some of the blame. If they'd known that it was all her - well, she would have been out of there months before I was. I think everyone believed me, when I owned up for things I didn't even know had happened until too late. (Except for Dumbledore. I think he knew what I was doing.)_

  
_I was quite the studious type, you see. I wanted to just get through it so I could do what I wanted afterwards. I didn't necessarily follow the rules if I didn't agree with them, you know, but I didn't want anything to stop me from becoming a Magizoologist, or something of the sort. So I kept taking the fall for Leta, when she would go too far, and then I got expelled for it. Jarveys, set loose in the Great Hall, it was. They're something like an overgrown ferret, and they can speak in human tongues, though it's mostly nonsense. Quite brutal, too, and that's what did it. One girl got bitten, quite badly, and one boy scratched, all up his arms, from where they'd tried to stop them. You can't come back from doing something like that. I took the fall one too many times, and this time, I got expelled._

  
_Sorry, I've spoken at far too much length about myself. Reflecting on school has made me wonder, though - could you tell me more about Ilvermorny? I only have a basic knowledge of it, and I am well aware that it is sub-par in every way in comparison to Hogwarts._

  
_It's nice to know you enjoy these letters. I generally feel as though they are unintelligible ramblings._

  
_Fantastic beasts and where to find them... That might make a good name for my book, you know. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. I think you might be on to something there, Tina._

  
_Your Newt._


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

Tina squinted at Newt's letter. She held it at arms length, and then pulled it right up to the tip of her nose.

  
"That's gotta be on purpose," she muttered to herself, staring intently at Newt's sprawling handwriting. Putting aside her previous, possessive feelings, she called Queenie into the room.

  
"Newt's been sending me letters."

  
"I know," smiled Queenie.

  
"But they don't make sense. He's capitalised a random letter in all of them. I thought it was an accident at first - he does seem the type - but I've had three letters, and in all of them, there have been capitalised letters that just don't add up."

  
"Maybe they do," Queenie's brow furrowed as she sat down.

  
"Do what?"

  
"Add up. See here: what'd he put in the first one?"

  
"A 'W'."

  
"You're sure that's a 'W'? I don't know from nothing, but his penmanship isn't great, huh?"

  
"I'm positive, Queenie. So: 'W'. Then..." Tina rummaged around needlessly for the other letters; though they were still atop the pile, her mind was focused elsewhere. Pulling the second one out, she said:

  
"'A'. W-A. And the last one?"

  
"Oh, honey. The last one is 'R'," Queenie said, scanning the jumbled writing before letting the paper fall into her lap.

  
"War? What can he mean by that?" Tina was aghast.

  
"Horsefeathers!" Exclaimed Queenie. "What if it's to do with Grindelwald?"

  
Tina was pacing anxiously. "You think Grindelwald is going to spark up a war between us and the No-Majs? You reckon he's working on it from the inside?"

  
"Why wouldn't he just say that?"

  
"What if his owls are being watched? Oh. Oh, no no no!"

  
"What?" Queenie was finding it hard to keep up with the flitting of thoughts erupting from Tina; they were aggravated and confused, which made her easier to read, usually, but not when they were firing at her this fast.

  
"I told him about Graves."

  
"Teenie, I don't think you should write him no more. Not until you figure out a safe way to do it, at least. You don't want them being intercepted."

  
Tina pouted. "I know."

  
"Teenie..."

  
"Shut up."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Newt was beginning to become anxious in response to the fact that _Tina had not written him in over two weeks_. He'd tried to placate himself: she's probably busy, she's probably busy, she's probably too busy for you, she's probably not interested in you. And when the cycle repeated he'd shake his head, mop of hair now long enough to dangle over his eyes. Then it would begin anew.

  
He'd been too bold, perhaps. The jump to 'Your Newt' was maybe too much. Had he scared her off? He hoped not. But what if he had?

  
With a long sigh, he packed up his papers, and slotted them into a notebook to keep them together. Tina may not have messaged him lately, but the Ministry had. Urgent business, the letter had proclaimed:

 

_Mr. N. A. F. Scamander,_

  
_We require your presence at the Ministry urgently. A portkey will arrive at your place of residence at exactly 12:00 noon tomorrow. Do not be late._

  
_C. Colman,_

  
_Secretary to H. Fawley,_

  
_Minister for Magic._

 

It was 11:58. Newt stuck his feet into his boots, stood, and straightened out his coat.

  
It was 11:59. Newt patted his case, told his beasts he'd be back soon, and looked around.

  
It was 12:00. Newt saw a kettle appear on his patterned rug, reached for it, and held tight.

  
It was 12:01. Newt let go of the kettle, looked around, and followed a Ministry employee up the stairs.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"I can't keep ignoring him like this," Tina said to Queenie as they pattered excitedly towards Jacob's new bakery. Tina's flat loafers stomped along next to Queenie's delicate kitten heels. It had been open for a few days, and they finally had time to go and see it - and him. Queenie seemed to almost float down the streets, her eyes twinkling but her face steely with determination.

  
"It's for the best." Queenie was focused on Jacob, on Jacob's bakery, and not Tina.

  
"Could you ignore Jacob like this?"

  
This caught her attention. "Jacob doesn't even know who I am," she said, fixing her elder sister with a disgruntled frown and a cold glare.

  
"Sorry."

  
"It's okay. I know you're hurting."

  
"I am not-"

  
"Give it up, Tina. You know as well as I do that I know as well as you do that you're hurting. I do wish you didn't try to be so hard boiled all of the time."

  
"Fine. Now pipe down, we're nearly there."

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Yes."

  
"And you're sure, Mr. Scamander? We're aware that this is a big commitment."

  
"I'm perfectly sure."

 

 

* * *

 

 

The bakery was simply astounding. Newt's beasts, made manifest in pastry, littered the shop; it teemed with customers, despite the fact it had been open a mere few days. Customers chatted amicably with Mr. Kowalski, and he radiated joy with every excited comment and compliment thrown his way.

  
"Look at this one! Hey, Queenie, look at this!" Tina was pressed up against the glass, looking on in awe at the breads and pastries made in the shapes of erumpents and nifflers.

  
"He has to remember," Queenie said, wide-eyed, watching Jacob bustle about the shop. She lingered over the way the sunlight caressed his cheeks, the way his eyes glittered, the way the dust motes moved to make room for him as he passed. He tweaked at his collar.

  
"I'm going in."

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Newt!_

  
_Oh, Newt, I am so sorry I haven't written in so long. Queenie said I shouldn't, but this I simply must tell you!_

  
_Jacob remembers. Not everything, mind you - but he recognised Queenie! His bakery is full of magical creatures, just like the ones you showed him. He lit up when he saw her. It was so lovely. She's been so sad, and I'm so happy that it's worked out like this._

  
_He needed a bit of nudging in the right direction, mind, but Queenie heard everything. It was like a series of locks, or a chain, and seeing her made him remember the creatures, remember me, remember you. He'd made all of these pastries that looked just like your beasts before he'd even seen us, so they must have stuck with him. She seemed so happy. So did he. They're off talking now - they went for lunch together, and I came home to write this._

  
_I cannot believe you got expelled because of somebody else! Well, I can, you're too nice - far too nice, Newt. I feel rather cold in comparison. Did you never go back to look for the hippogriffs? I was surprised by that._

  
_Speaking of school, I must disagree with you. Ilvermorny is the best wizarding school in the world. I suppose in some respects it must be similar to Hogwash - sorry, Hogwarts - we have four houses, too, for instance. I think you'd like them, as they're all named after magical beasts: Horned Serpent, Wampus, Thunderbird, and Pukwudgie. I understand that you're sorted by a hat (sounds musty and old and, frankly, outdated, if you ask me), but we're all gathered into the entrance hall, and we stand on the symbol of the Gordian Knot. There are carvings of each of the houses, and they react based on whether they want us or not. If more than one responds, then it's up to us. Wampus and Thunderbird both chose me, and I chose Thunderbird. (Queenie is a Pukwudgie, in case you were wondering.)_

  
_Oh, and our robes were blue and cranberry. Why? Because some kid loved cranberry pie. Still better than black, though._

  
_Do tell me more about your eccentric professor. And about your creatures! I'd like to learn more about them. Especially the Ilvermorny ones - I know what they look like, and what the houses mean, but I don't know much about the creatures themselves._

  
_Do you really think it would make a good name? You'd best give me the credit for that one, Mr. Scamander._

  
_Your Tina._

 

 

Tina picked up the finished letter, folded it carefully, neatly; she put it in a drawer, never to be sent.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the gap between updates! I'm in the middle of January exams.
> 
> Again, thank you for the comments, kudos, and bookmarks. It's wonderful to know that you're enjoying the story.

 

  
Newt sighed. He wanted to tell Tina - more than anything, he wanted to tell her. But she hadn't written him, and it had been three weeks. Perhaps she hadn't received his last owl?

  
But he also had to apply for a wand permit, and what if she heard that way, rather than through him?

  
Why hadn't she written?

  
Newt sighed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Hey there, Mr. Kowalski." Tina smiled, opening the door. "No trouble with Mrs. Esposito?"

  
"C'mon, Tina, call me Jacob," he beamed. "And nah, none at all."

  
"Teenie, how's the food lookin'?" Queenie piped from behind Jacob, as she followed him in. He'd tried to let her pass first, but she'd insisted that she had no time for chivalry where it wasn't needed.

  
"It's good," Tina said, absentmindedly, as she turned to check the charms were still in place. Seeing that they were - the laundry was washing itself in the sink, scrubbing against a washing rack; dinner was being prepared, a few feet above the counter - she turned her attention back to Queenie and Jacob.

  
"What's for dinner?" Jacob asked, looking around.

  
"Strudel," giggled Queenie. Tina smirked.

  
Jacob and Queenie had been talking for about a week when she'd invited him over for dinner. He was a little hazy about certain things, such as where the girls lived and why Newt was no longer with them, but they'd been meeting daily for lunch, and Queenie had filled him in somewhat sufficiently.

  
She'd decided that it was about time he had something a little more physical to help jog his memory; thus, she ended up inviting him over for dinner with herself and Tina. She could feel the loss of Newt from the table, with Jacob's presence highlighting it rather than dampening it. And she could feel that Tina felt it, too, which didn't help her in her attempts to ignore the blatant elephant in the room.

  
(Well, not quite as blatant as one of Newt's erumpents, but still rather noticeable.)

  
"So, ladies," Jacob began, settling himself comforting into his seat. "Where's Newt gone? Why ain't he here?"

  
Jacob's accent curdled 'Newt' into 'Noot', and Tina coughed to cover her snort.

  
"I already told ya, Newt's gone home. He's not from here, darlin'." Queenie reached over and squeezed his hand, though it dwarfed hers in comparison. Her slender fingers wrapped around his, and she looked up through long lashes to meet his gaze. "He's gone."

  
"Not forever," Tina interjected. "Stop being so dramatic, Queenie."

  
"Well, he is gone, for starters, and I know you've been all balled up about it anyhow."

  
"My thoughts are none of your business."

  
"Hey, ladies, hey. What's goin' on here?" Jacob took his hand back, and balanced with both elbows on the table, leaning forwards.

  
Tina crossed her arms. "Queenie thinks I've developed romantic feelings for Newt."

  
"Which she has," Queenie chirped. Jacob grinned.

  
"Well, ain't that cute. So what's the problem?"

  
"There isn't one."

  
"Tina misses him. And I do too. But she's been writing to him, right, all these lengthy letters about how much she misses him, how much she fancies him-"

  
"That's enough, Queenie," Tina said, voice sharp, eyes sharper.

  
"Newt's been writing to me, and he's sent a code. And we've worked this code out to spell 'war'. We assume it's in relation to Grindelwald."

  
"I sure do remember that fella. Nasty."

  
"Very. So I haven't been able to write him in a few weeks, 'cause I figure if he's using code, then maybe our owls are being intercepted."

  
"Why don't you write to him, and use a code of your own?"

  
"It would take too long. He's been doing it one at a time, and we've got the message now. Picquery seems worried enough as it is. I don't want to meddle."

  
"From what I remember, that sure ain't like you, Tina."

  
"I've only just been reinstated. There's too much at stake."

  
"So you'll lash out at a bluenose, but not send a message to Newt?"

  
"Screw it. I'm sending him a letter."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Newt had made his mind up. It was surely best for Tina to find out from him, rather than have him simply turn up - or, worse, for her to find out from somebody else, and think that he didn't want her to know.

_Tina,_ he wrote, too fearful to put anything more,

  
_I feel it is prudent to inform you that I my presence has been requested in the States. I will be travelling to New York in just over a weeks' time. It seems Picquery is becoming increasingly concerned about Grindelwald's capture, despite the fact that he is still incarcerated. The Ministry have requested, on her behalf, that I take my studies overseas. I will be able to continue my book, though at a slower pace than initially assumed. I have also been asked to train both wizards and magical beasts in an attempt to prepare for anything Grindelwald may throw at us._

  
_I said the wizards would need more training than the beasts, but I don't think they were listening._

  
_I intend to disregard the element of work that requires me to train creatures to attack. Instead, I shall teach those who will listen about how to work with beasts, rather than how to use them. People don't see how intelligent they are, and they really should._

  
Due to Tina's lack of response, Newt felt rather silly continuing with his plan. But somewhere within him was a hope that had not, as of yet, burnt out.

  
_How have you been? I hope all is well with you, and Queenie. I do worRy, you know._

  
_Newt._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Tina had found the letter she'd folded up, and sent it before she could think properly about it. Damn it, she missed him, so she'd jolly well write him.

 

The owl flew away, becoming no more than an infinitesimal dot in the night sky; just another wish amongst the stars.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

  
Newt beamed. He stood in front of ten hippogriffs, all of whom watched him with trepidation, eagerly anticipating his next move. In the week he had left, before travelling to New York, the Ministry had requested that he put some of his remaining time to good use, and taught some young aurors how to ride hippogriffs - should they ever be needed as a means of transport. They had considered the use of thestrals, but Newt had suggested that as many of the less experienced aurors would be unable to see them, it would be a somewhat redundant practice.

  
"Right, well," he stuttered, as he turned from the creatures to the aurors. He felt far less at ease around people than ten creatures far larger and stronger than himself. (But no more dangerous than himself, unless provoked, and that wasn't their fault anyway-)

  
"I'm, uh, Mr. Scamander, I suppose. Call me Newt, though." He gestured behind him, to where most of those assembled were looking anyway.

  
"These are ten hippogriffs that the Ministry have rescued." The word 'rescued' brought about a murmur of uncertainty within the crowd, and even one small snort of disbelief, but Newt didn't notice; he was too absorbed in trying to make his words come out in the right order. He hadn't dealt with so many people in a long while.

  
"The aim of the next few days is to try and teach you to gain their trust, and the eventual goal is for them to let you have a short fly on them. This is so that, should Grindelwald somehow disrupt conventional means of transportation, we have a backup. So - let's get to it, shall we?"

  
He took a step closer to the enclosure, and the crowd shuffled forwards with him.

  
"Now, you must remember that they aren't dangerous. They're not. The talons - see, there - on their front legs are half a foot long, so they can be, but they won't hurt you. You just have to know how to treat them, how to approach them."

  
"How do you know so much about them?" One of the aurors chirped. He had a flat, beaky nose, and gleaming, intelligent eyes which peeped out from under an inky black fringe, which he kept pushing back in irritation. He looked younger than the others, and he kept looking around, as if uncertain as to whether he should really be there or not. Newt smiled kindly at him.

  
"My mother has bred hippogriffs for as long as I can remember, and longer than that. I've met some in the field, but most of my experience comes from watching and helping her."

  
"Oh, that's cool," he said, directing a small smile at Newt, though he ducked under his hair to do so. "Do you think she's why you wanted to study magical creatures?"

  
"I imagine she had something to do with it." He grinned. "So! I'm not sure - how much you know already?"

  
"Not much," was the general consensus from the muttering.

  
"Not much," repeated one lady from the back, projecting her voice over the crowd.

  
"Okay. So I guess I'll tell you a little bit about them before we get into it?" Newt looked for affirmation, and the same lady nodded at him, hiding a smile.

  
"The hippogriff is, essentially, a combination of the horse, and the eagle. The back legs and tail are that of a horse, and the front end and wings are that of an eagle. Look at their coats - see how smoothly it transitions from feathers to hair? And, see here, look at that chestnut one - see how he's pawing the ground? They prefer small mammals to insects, same as we prefer a Sunday roast to a sandwich, but if there's nothing else on offer they'll eat worms."

  
"Do they act more like a horse, or an eagle?" A bespectacled young lady asked, quirking her head to the side.

  
"Honestly? It's hard to say, but I- I think it's a fairly even split."

  
Another woman stepped forward. "Isn't it illegal to use them for transportation?"

  
"Usually, yes. But I think this is something of a special case."

  
"How long does it take them to learn how to fly?" Came from a middle-aged man with the beginnings of a receding hairline.

  
Newt toyed with his fringe, pushing it away from his face, only to have it fall back into place almost instantly. "They can fly by the time they're a week old, but it takes a little longer for them to be able to keep up with their parents, or go long distances."

  
"Have you ever ridden a hippogriff?"

  
"Once, yes. And the less said about that, the better." He coughed to cover his laugh. "Now! Onto the most important bit, I suppose. You see, the hippogriff is a very proud creature. We need to be very careful in our treatment of them, because they aren't dangerous - they really aren't - but it's best not to offend them."

  
He approached the gate slowly, and lead one of the hippogriffs into a separate enclosure, so that he was alone with the smallest one, a little speckled roan. He'd already made their acquaintance earlier that morning, so as to be able to go straight into teaching the others.

  
He stepped back from the creature, and encouraged the group to come closer.

  
"See here, come and look at this little one. He's called Butty," he smiled. "What you absolutely must remember is that you need to be polite. So, see - we need to introduce ourselves, essentially, but we have to let Butty here make the first move."

  
Newt took a step closer, and bowed to Butty, keeping eye contact throughout. After a moment's hesitation, he bowed in return. Newt moved forwards, and gave his neck a firm pat.

  
"Butty was found on the outskirts of Ystrad Mynach, in Wales - obviously. He's quite gentle really, you just have to know what you're doing. Now, who wants to try?"

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When Newt returned home that evening, an owl was sat on the window ledge. He read the letter eagerly, greedily; a smile spreading across his face, which grew, becoming more prominent with every word.

 

_Dear Tina,_ he wrote, eager to respond quickly,

  
_I'm so glad to have heard from you._

  
_Jacob remembers? That's excellent! He's made baked creatures?_

  
_Is it safe for him and Queenie to be in public together? No matter. Let's not think of that now._

  
_Your school system sounds most bizarre. And of course I went back for the hippogriffs. Speaking of - did you receive my other letter? I've been teaching aurors how to approach hippogriffs in the interlude between now and me boarding the ship, early next week. It's good to know I can help, even with my somewhat limited skill set._

  
_What creatures were they? Oh, yes. Well, the thunderbird you've met, of course. They come from Arizona (I am most disappointed to have been unable to take Frank home, but no matter) and they don't look too dissimilar to a hippogriff - well, their heads, at least. They have multiple wings, which they can create storms with, which you know._

  
_And you were a hatstool between Thunderbird and Wampus, so I suppose I'll tell you what I know of those. Bare in mind that I have little experience with the others, and my travels did not take me to the States, but I do know that the wampus cat is something like the panther - fast, and strong, and damn near impossible to kill. As for the horned serpent, I know simply that it is a sort of magical snake, having never come across one - and, you must remember, our Care of Magical Creatures lessons tended to be focused on things we might come across here, as few of my classmates deemed roaming around studying these creatures to be anY sort of proper career._

  
_I do remember you mentioning, when I last made your acquaintance, that pukwudgies still work at Ilvermorny, so I must assume that you know more of them than I do. I'm sorry to have been of so little help, but given the logistical issues regarding such creatures, I'm hoping you will understand._

  
_Perhaps one day I will have a chance to study them._

  
_For now, though, we shall simply have to speculate._

  
_Your Newt._

  
Newt quickly skimmed back through Tina's letter to make sure he hadn't failed to reply to any part of it. Something at the beginning caught his eye, and he squinted at it, frowning.

  
_P.S. Why did Queenie think it unsafe to write me?_

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Graves! Graves?"

  
"Hello, Porpentina."

  
Percival Graves sat up a little straighter as Tina scurried, uninvited, into his office.

  
"I need your help."

  
"I told you, I've told you everything I know. You mustn't keep trying me alone, I don't want you to get into trouble."

  
"Oh! Oh, no, it's not about that, Sir. See, it's about Mr. Scamander. Remember him?"

  
"I remember him being a pain." Graves cocked his head, his interest piqued, and clicked his back as he shuffled himself closer to his desk.

  
"Oh - well, I-"

  
"I'm joking, Tina. What is it?"

  
"I think he's trying to tell me something. But it doesn't make sense anymore."

  
"Show me."

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Tina had a theory.

  
Tina had a theory that Percival Graves would never get any better if he was only asked about himself, only pestered for details about what had happened to him. He was a great man, and deserved to be treated as such.

  
Tina had a theory that he'd open up, naturally, once he felt better.

  
Tina had a theory that she could help him by getting him to help her.

  
Tina, however, disagreed entirely with _his_ theory.

  
"You think it says 'Marry'? Why on Earth would it say 'Marry'? The first letter's a 'W', for Heaven's sake."

  
"That can't be a 'W', Tina. Look, he's just capitalised one in every word, not put a random letter in. So if it says 'Rambling', whatever his handwriting might look like, however bad it may be, it has to be an 'M'."

  
"But..." Tina trailed off, uncertain.

  
"But?"

  
"But why would he send that? It made sense, then there were two 'R's, and now..."

  
"And now it says 'Marry'."

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
  
_Newt,_

  
_You're coming to New York?! That's great!_

  
_(Queenie reckons it's the berries. I'm not so sure about this new-fangled jargon.)_

  
_Jacob has made so many creatures, Newt. It's very sweet. As for his and Queenie's burgeoning relationship, well, I think that's rather sweet too. They've been careful, but I do worry._

  
_You do not have a limited skill set, Mr. Scamander! I simply won't hear of it. I feel I've learnt much more about you since we've been writing, like this, but even in the time we spent in each other's company taught me that you have anything but a limited skill set. You're fantastic, Newt._

  
_Though I am most disappointed by your lack of knowledge regarding the American creatures, I must say. I, too, hope that you might perhaps get the chance to study them._

  
_Oh - what's a hatstool?_

  
Tina paused. She considered mentioning the message he was trying to send, but she was too curious to see what he sent next; she feared that being direct would only scare Newt off, just as he was getting going.

  
_I'm assuming, by now, that you're well into your work with the hippogriffs. How is that going? Are you enjoying it? Silly question, really, I can't imagine anything you'd enjoy more._

  
_You are, of course, most welcome here during your stay. I'm sure Jacob will be most delighted to see you again._

  
_Your Tina._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Newt appraised the cluster of aurors stood around him. It was their fourth day, and they'd all done well thus far - each had approached every hippogriff, and been accepted by them all in turn.

  
Today, however, they had to go a little further. Newt was going to see if the most competent could approach the most easy-going of the small herd, and see if they could have a short fly. They would have to cast a disillusionment charm over themselves and their hippogriff before they were able to set off, lest any muggles see them, before attempting to ride them.

  
He'd chosen the shy young man, amongst a couple of others, but he'd stood out rather the most; the one with dark hair, and a smile that needed to be encouraged out of him, to try one of the larger members of the pack. He felt that his lack of confidence could be both useful and resolved: the hippogriff would feel not feel endangered, and would therefore have no need to lash out at him, due to his small stature and gentle nature; dealing with such a large creature competently could have a positive impact on the young lad, too.

  
A small group had split off from the majority of the aurors, and were whispering in hushed tones. Newt had wandered into the hippogriff enclosure as he'd been thinking, and he leant now against the fence absentmindedly. The largest and most skittish of the herd, a stormy grey, nuzzled into him as he stroked his neck. As he zoned back in to reality, he could overhear pieces of the smaller groups' conversation.

  
"He really thinks they've been rescued?"

  
"Yeah. Best not say anything, Liz."

  
"He should know."

  
"He'll flip. You know what he's like."

  
"What do you mean?"

  
"All holier-than-thou about his creatures. They're animals, he doesn't need to treat them like they're more important than us."

  
At this, Newt could stand it no longer. Bristling, he called out, "They are more important than us."

  
The man leapt up from his hunched position as though he'd been shocked. "I'm sorry?"

  
"The creatures. They're the most important, actually. What are you all talking about?" Newt was pressed against the fencing now, intent only on the conversation. The man moved nearer to him, coming closer with every word, until he was almost nose-to-nose with Newt through a gap in the fence.

  
"They're not though, are they? They're just animals."

  
"Charles, stop it," warned a plain-looking woman, stood nearest to him from the small group.

  
"Tell me," said Newt, very quietly.

  
"Tell you what?" The man said, sizing Newt up.

  
"What you meant. I know they've been rescued. Am I wrong in thinking that?"

  
"Yes, you are."

  
"And why might that be." Newt asked, without intonation, voice flat as his eyes burned with barely-concealed rage, trepidation, and worry, at what was to come next.

  
"The hippogriffs weren't rescued. They were captured for you to use."

  
"What?" Newt looked heartbroken. He was shaking with contained anger. The hippogriff which had been quietly nuzzling him backed off, and the feathers on his neck rose.

  
"I'm sorry, but it's more important that we learn this than them getting to go free."

  
"How can you say that?" Newt cried. He took a step back, towards the terrified hippogriff.

  
What happened next seemed to occur in slow motion, though it took only a fragment of a second:

  
Newt stepped back from the fence, too close for the hippogriff to ignore any longer. It reared up, and, spurred on by an outcry from those watching outside the enclosure, lashed out.

  
Newt fell.

  
Newt fell, as the talons raked into his side and back.

  
Newt fell, and crashed into the unforgiving metal fence.

  
Newt fell, and he did not get up again.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

Tina's heels clicked as she strode down the hallway; she was almost running as she scampered along, but trying to appear demure and respectable in public - despite her obvious desperation to reach her destination. She pulled her gloves off as she rounded the final corner, and she swung into the room.

  
The Wand Permit Office held no happy memories for Tina, but it did have Queenie. Her sister was bustling about, balancing coffees onto a tray for the final meeting of the day. Hearing Tina as she approached, she spun and held up a single finger to signify that she'd be with her in a minute.

  
Tina ducked under a low-hanging sign, and stepped over an amassed pile of papers in order to sit at Queenie's desk. As she waited, she pulled out the letter from her small, plain leather bag, and re-read it once more.

 

  
_Miss Goldstein,_

  
_It seems abhorrent that we must initially converse under such circumstances, but needs must, I'm afraid._

  
_I'm not sure what Newt will have said of me - indeed, if anything - but my name is Theseus. I am Newt's elder brother, and it seems to have regretfully fallen to me to inform you of something rather unpleasant._

  
_I do apologise for my reticence in telling you, but the subject matter is somewhat delicate. That is to say, my brother - your Newt - has fallen dangerously ill as a result of a hippogriff attack. The injuries which he received were of such a nature that magic could only do so much; the worst of his physical ailments have been healed, to an extent, but there have been complications._

  
_It was suggested that I inform you, as it seems you have had the most contact with him recently. Newt himself is still unconscious, but I thought it prudent to make you aware._

  
_Theseus Scamander._

 

 

"Tina? What's up, honey?"

  
"Read this," she replied, pushing the letter over to Queenie so that she could see it better.

  
"Oh."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Look sharp, old chap. No point lying about in here all day, is there, Newton?"

  
Theseus sighed. Newt was pale - paler than usual, even - and lay still under the sheets. The numerous cuts and abrasions from the hippgriff's sharp talons had been healed, leaving only scars which could hardly be seen amongst the myriad of others covering his body.

  
There had been no change for two days now, and Newt was due to leave in another two. The superficial damage had been healed with no real difficulty - but he was yet to wake up.

  
"Newt, please. I know we haven't been so close lately." Theseus leant in, and grasped Newt's limp, pallid hand. "I know I was cold to you, after your expulsion. But I still care, I do, always have." He smiled, a withering half-smile which quickly faded. "I want to know about your adventures, and your creatures. And your Miss Goldstein." At this, a real smile broke out across his face. He squeezed his brother's hand.

  
Their mother had been in to see him, before. She'd had to leave briefly, and had appointed Theseus as Newt's guardian temporarily, leaving him with firm instructions to "Be nice". He'd feigned laughter at this, but he'd taken it to heart.

  
"I mean it, Newt. After you get well again, when you go back out on your adventures, I'll write you all the time, just to see how you are."

  
Theseus looked away. Newt's hand clutched at empty air as his brother pulled free.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Mr. Scamander,_

  
_Indeed it is something of a travesty that we must meet in this manner. However, I am - well, not glad, but pleased to have received your correspondence._

  
_I suppose that what I am trying to say is: thank you for making me aware of the situation at hand. Though the circumstances are somewhat dizzying and more than a little upsetting, we can commence to make plans, at the very least._

  
_Porpentina Goldstein._

 

 

"It'll be okay, Teenie. He'll pull through. It's Newt."

  
"I know." Tina offered Queenie a half-hearted, watery smile.

  
Queenie gave a tentative smile in return, and pulled her sister into a tight, reassuring hug.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Newt looked around, blinking slowly and peeping at the light through bleary eyes. It was bright, in the room, and there was a window directly opposite him. Outside, he could see the vague and blurry outline of a hippogriff, and he winced.

  
His eyes remained half-lidded, but he tried to pull himself up into a seated position. Struggling, he ended up leant uncomfortably on one elbow, before falling back into the bed.

  
He groaned, and bit his lower lip to silence himself almost immediately. One of his arms had been extensively bandaged, the other less so, and his skin was pasty and littered with a multitude of new scars and marks, lying carelessly amongst the freckles. His eyes tried to focus on the pink sheen of the largest one, but he was unable to make them; following this defeat, he shut them once more, lying back.

  
His head hurt, he realised, as he stared into the foggy darkness of the inside of his eyelids. It was a growing, throbbing pain, becoming all-encompassing as it lashed at his temples. His less-damaged hand clenched into a fist, tightly holding the duvet, as he waited for it to recede. It didn't.

  
He squeezed his eyes shut, and peeled them open again, slowly.

  
"Newt?"

  
He pulled his head round to the right, following the noise. He tried in vain to croak out a response, but no sound came, save an irritated exhale.

  
"You okay?" Theseus moved closer, and pulled up a chair.

  
Newt rolled his eyes.

  
"I've heard from your Tina, you know," he said, eyes sparkling with thinly veiled mirth.

  
"Tina?" Newt coughed.

  
"Ah, I suspected that might get a rise out of you."

  
"Is she okay?" Newt squinted against the light, but his concern was conveyed nonetheless.

  
"She's fine. She sent something for you."

  
"She did?"

  
"Yeah. This," Theseus handed over a sealed envelope, and Newt turned it over hungrily in his hands.

 

 

_Newt,_

  
_Please write me as soon as you are well enough. We're all worried._

  
_And, Newt, please try to get well. No escapades, don't get all balled up about anything, don't leap out of your bed to look after your creatures._

  
_Your Tina._

 

 

"My creatures!"

  
"Are fine, Newt, don't worry. Mother's been keeping an eye on them."

  
Newt was already halfway out of the bed, trying to wiggle free from the covers and sheets wrapped seemingly endlessly around him. Theseus sighed in exasperation, but didn't try to stop him; Newt was a force to be reckoned with, at least when his beasts were involved.

  
Newt, barefoot and in a pair of stripey pyjamas, was already struggling. "Where's my case?"

  
"Mum's got it."

  
"Where is she?" He forced one foot, then the other, into two odd, somewhat worn, but warm socks.

  
"Downstairs, somewhere, I imagine. Oh, do calm down, Newt."

  
"There's no point trying to stop me, Theseus."

  
Theseus smiled. "I know," he said, and propped Newt up, before helping him out of the room. His shoes tapped the floor in time with Newt's socked feet, scuffling along beside him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tina was pacing. The soles of her brogues slapped anxiously against the floor, always rhythmically, always in perfect time. She stopped to look out of the window. It was raining. She frowned, her eyebrows and lips pulling down in unison.

  
Graves was sat at his desk, watching Tina march past him tirelessly. He was wrapped around a hot cup of cocoa (courtesy of Queenie, who'd been in earlier to check on Tina), and he seemed to be holding it for warmth rather than drinking it. Though Tina's insistent visits and questions had brought him out of his shell, to an extent, he was still reserved and worrisome at times, and terribly pale. Picquery had, in an attempt to bring him back into work gently, given him a stack of paperwork to sort through; he listened to Tina talk animatedly about work and, more often than not, Newt, as he worked steadily through the pile.

  
Her concentration was focused solely on Newt, this afternoon. The rain picked up, lashing angrily at the windows like the sea thrashing repeatedly against the shore. Graves' eyes followed Tina as she moved back across the room.

  
"Why does he always have to do these things when we're in the middle of a situation? I don't have time to be worried about him. But I am! Can I help it? No!"

  
"This one probably wasn't so much his fault, at least."

  
"Yeah, but still."

  
"You need to stop worrying, Tina." Graves put the still-full mug down on the desk. "Newt will be fine, and he'll let you know as soon as he is."

  
"Yeah. Sure."

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Tina. Tina!_

  
_I'm fine, don't worry about me. I'm writing this from inside the case - how bizarre. Theseus is here, too - even more bizarre, actually. He's taking a little look at the moon calves. I thought they were the best for him to begin with. Same as Jacob - they're so small and sweet, you see. Probably the least terrifying thing I've ever seen. So cute!_

 

_How are you? Any news on Grindelwald? Any news on Graves? How's work?_

  
Newt's foot bounced up and down on the wooden base of the chair as he wrote. Theseus cocked his head as he watched his younger brother, hidden from sight.

  
Newt really was a strange one, he thought. But a likeable character nonetheless.

  
Theseus smiled to himself, and wandered back over to the moon calves.

  
_As I'm sure you know,_ Newt continued, _my work with the hippogriffs started off well enough, but did not end in the best way possible. There were some very proMising students, some of whom were very receptive to what I wanted to teach them, but others were less interested. It was one of these that brought about the information which lead to my accident._

  
_I'm fine, though, completely healed. No need to worry. A bit sore, and a bit wobbly on my feet, but that's nothing unusual. I'm more concerned about the fate of those hippogriffs, myself, and intend to take up the matter with haste. Just as soon as I can stand without assistance._

  
_I really do hope this doesn't delay my visit too much. I was most looking forward to seeing you._

  
_I hope everyone is well. I truly will do my best to be with you all as soon as I can._

  
_Your Newt._

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait between chapters! Thank you all so much for the continued support. Seeing new comments absolutely makes my day. Will (hopefully!) have the next chapter up tomorrow.

 

 

"You sure you'll be okay?"

  
"I'll be fine, Theseus," Newt said, ducking his head in embarrassment. He scuffed his boot along the ground, anxious to board the ship.

  
"It's only been a couple of days since you woke up," his mother chipped in, dabbing gently at her eyes. "You don't know what it was like, Newt. Please be careful, darling."

  
"I will, mother."

  
"You promise? I do worry about you, you know."

  
Newt was bright red by this point, the tips of his ears burning underneath the straggly sides of his hair. "I promise," he stammered uncomfortably. Nonetheless, he was glad to know that people cared. He hadn't been home in a long time, mostly due to Theseus's attitude towards his expulsion, but in the wake of his accident his brother had been more than dutiful - he'd been outwardly pleasant, and caring, even.

  
Theseus clapped a hand to his younger brother's shoulder, a grin shielding his sadness. Newt, attuned to unspoken feelings through prolonged exposure to his creatures, noticed this; he spoke hastily, so as to stem an unwanted flow of feeling from any member of their assembled party.

  
"And the hippogriffs, mother - they'll be okay, won't they?" He frowned, his teeth worrying his bottom lip.

  
"The one that got you might face some difficulty," she said, always honest.

  
"But it wasn't their fault! It was mine," his voice stuttered between a hiss and an outcry, every word punctuated by raw hurt.

  
"I know." She stepped forward to place a soothing hand on his upper arm. At his poorly veiled wince, she removed it, but kept her voice gentle. "I'll do what I can, you know that."

  
"I know," he conceded. His arm throbbed from where her hand had been, but he didn't know why. There were no open wounds, now - only scars.

  
The sea smashed against the docks, spattering those crowded too near the edge with white foam. The children laughed, girls hugging their skirts tight to their legs as they scattered, hooting with joy; some of the boys braving the spray, before being yanked back by their parents. Newt noticed none of this.

  
"Please stop worrying, brother mine."

  
"I'm not worrying. I'm thinking."

  
"Oh, dear." Theseus rolled his eyes, stepping back to clutch the railing.

  
"Mother. What chance does that hippogriff have of survival?"

  
"I can't say for certain. The others will be fine - I'm taking the two of the biggest males in, and the rest will be released, or sent to other breeders. I promise you, Newt -" here she paused, and took her son by the shoulders - "I will make sure they are all accounted for, and cared for. But the one that attacked you may not be so easy to keep an eye on."

  
"He isn't dangerous."

  
"I know that. But not everyone else does."

  
Newt smiled. It grew slowly, gradually filling his face with a brightness that shone through the pallor of his skin. It touched first his eyes, igniting a spark within them, before blossoming to his mouth, his cheeks, his chin, as it stretched into an open-mouthed grin of pure excitement.

  
"Mother, Theseus. It seems I cannot leave today, after all. I have something I must do." He looked at his watch, despite the fact that it had been broken for a little over a year. "Right now, in fact."

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Tina,_

  
_I must apologise. My trip has been delayed by another week. That, plus the fifteen days the crossing itself will take, means I will be with you in roughly three weeks._

  
_However, I feel you may forgive me (or throttle me) when you hear why._

  
_Your Newt._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jacob's soothing voice did nothing to reassure Tina. "Hey, he's fine. Sure, it's annoying, but he'll be here soon."

  
"What does he mean? _'You may throttle me?'_ " She mimicked his voice, and her face pulled into a crude parody of his startled, bewildered expression.

  
They were sat in a small coffee shop, situated just off the main street where Jacob's bakery was. Tina had been in search of Queenie, but had found that in many ways, Jacob was as good as - if not better than - Queenie at listening to her rant about Newt. He couldn't hear her thoughts, but he was good at reading expressions. This meant that he was empathetic, but didn't cut across her because he knew exactly what she was going to say.

  
"Hey, now. C'mon, Tina! You know Newt. He's an idiot, of course he is, but he's your idiot. He won't have done anything too stupid. Probably."

  
Tina snorted. "That's really reassuring, you know."

  
He smiled. "I do."

  
She took a small sip of her unassuming black coffee. "He is a boob."

  
Jacob waited, stirring his frothy, sugary drink. He considered Tina's words before he spoke next. "You do like him though, don't you?" He put his spoon down with a clank when she sighed.

  
"More than I should care to admit. And I know it's ridiculous," she said, the words tumbling out of her, "I know we hardly know each other, really. But I felt something. A spark, or whatever it is I think you're meant to feel. And we've learnt about each other, since we've been writing. I know so much more about him now. And he knows so much more about me. We're well-suited - even though he is a bit of a daisy, at times, and an idiot more so - but, yeah. I really like him, Jacob. He's a walking disaster, but I like him."

  
"He sure ain't no flat tire though, huh?"

  
"Far from it."

  
There was silence. Jacob tried to break it: "This is a decent cup of joe." Tina didn't bite. He went back to aimlessly stirring his coffee.

  
There was a comfortable silence for a while, broken only by the gentle ticking of a clock above the counter, and the murmur of conversation surrounding them. Jacob tuned in to a few conversations, and tried to imagine the lives that had lead to them. He was more interested, however, by Tina. He watched the minute fluctuations in her expression - puzzlement to curiosity to a cautious kind of excitement. He thought about how Newt and Tina had changed each others' lives, which made him think about how Queenie had changed his.

  
Tina had said Newt was a walking disaster. He thought Queenie was more of a whirlwind.

  
Newt was Tina's walking disaster. He hoped Queenie could be his whirlwind.

  
"What about you and Queenie?" Tina said eventually, breaking Jacob from his reverie.

  
"Oh, Tina. I hope you don't mind me saying..."

  
"Saying what?" She squinted at him warily.

  
"I think I love her."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Newt struggled into his case, alone in there for the first time since his accident. A flock of myriad creatures appeared at his side almost instantly.

  
Pickett ran on spindly legs to meet him as he approached, and jumped into a crevice on his jacket immediately. Newt smiled warmly, and let him climb onto his hand. Dougal crept onto his back, and snuggled against him fondly. He couldn't walk with Dougal on his back, so he slid down and walked alongside him as Newt moved through the habitats.

  
His beasts were all happy to see him, but they were only part of the reason he was there. He felt for wand in his back pocket as he walked, subconsciously checking for it.

  
When he reached the outskirts of the case, he pressed his hand experimentally against the confining edges. It gave slightly; he smiled.

  
He began to work, stood as he was between the moon calves and obscurus. He used a number of charms and transfigurative spells to forge a new environment: not too cold or cold, located between the moon calves, and the obscurus; with some leafy trees with long branches to provide cover; with plenty of space to roam.

  
A new environment perfectly suited to a hippogriff.


	10. Chapter 10

 

  
"Hey, Jacob?"

  
"Yeah, Tina?"

  
"I've just realised something."

  
"Mm?"

  
"There wasn't a capital letter in Newt's last letter."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Newt had finally finished his work on his case, much to his relief; he had only three days before his re-scheduled ship was due to leave. The Ministry had been deeply unhappy when he'd said he'd wanted to delay his trip, but had to accept his reasoning when he'd explained that it was due to the hippogriff attack.

  
Which it was - just not for the reason they believed.

  
His mother had been especially glad that he had reason to stay a while longer, but his father had been mysteriously absent. That, combined with the strange pain he felt - despite the lack of cosmetic wounds - making most movements difficult, plus his plans to rescue the rogue hippogriff, had made for a stressful week.

  
He ran a hand through his unruly hair. He was sat at a small desk in his old room at home; it overflowed with papers and scribbled drawings and ideas, all from the few days in which he had been back. He tipped back on his chair, and caught his weight as he swung forwards.

  
He looked down at the paper which lay atop all of the others. A single letter 'E' was written on it, and he'd coloured it in as best he could to make it bold.

  
He was anxious to return to New York. He hadn't received word from Tina, and he assumed his next correspondence with her would be when he arrived.

  
He missed her.

  
He'd tried to talk to Theseus about it, slowly, haltingly; he'd not made eye contact with his brother once during the exchange, but Theseus had drawn some of his worries from him.

  
"What if she doesn't like me any more?" Newt had kept his eyes down, watching his right foot trace circles on the wooden floor.

  
"She will."

  
Theseus wasn't usually much of a big talker, when it came to emotion, but he'd tried his best. Seeing his younger brother - the one person he should always protect - lying pallid and still in the ward at St. Mungo's, and then in one of the large rooms at home, had brought about a surge of compassion. His brother was an idiot, he'd thought, but he was the most honest and caring man he'd ever met. Too self-sacrificing for Theseus, particularly given his own line of work, but it was sweet, nonetheless.

  
Newt pushed the papers to one side, and stood abruptly. He stumbled, and both hands clutched at his side as a jolt of pain made his whole body shudder with the agony of it. He stifled a small cry by biting down on his tongue, until he drew blood. The tang didn't recede, even after the bleeding stopped. He sighed, and slowly, painfully, began to make his way to the stairs.

  
He didn't want to worry anyone, but he himself was worried. He'd even tried phoenix tears, when he'd been alone in his case the day before, but they'd had no impact on the supposedly healed wounds. He'd used them sparingly, not wanting to waste his small supply in case of an emergency, but he'd had little hope in the first place.  
He took a deep breath before he attacked the stairs, holding onto the banister until Theseus appeared at the bottom. He leapt away from the hand rail and hopped down the remaining stairs, hiding his discomfort in heaving breaths which became smaller and smaller the closer he got to his brother.

  
Theseus simply raised an eyebrow as he passed.

  
Newt continued round the corner before he gasped in, before trying to exhale slowly. He gathered himself, unsure as to why the pain was so unbearable, but pushing aside any concerns in favour of filling his mind with planning.

  
He needed to finalise his plan, and for that he needed his mother.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He'd spoken to Tina about it, but with every step closer to Queenie, Jacob's resolve wilted. He'd been courting her for months, now, but he wanted to make it official. Tina definitely approved, and for that he was endlessly glad, but it was still somewhat daunting.

  
Jacob's proud stride faltered.

  
Jeez, he thought, it wasn't even like he was asking her to marry him. He just wanted to do something nice for her. Well, for him. For both of them.

  
He had a promise ring, nestled snugly into his breast pocket. It was flashy - like Queenie, he thought with a smile - but not too overstated. His bakery was flourishing, sure, but it wasn't like he was anything near a rich fella. And it wasn't like an engagement ring, or anything.

  
He rapped eagerly on the door to Queenie and Tina's shared apartment. Queenie opened it promptly, and her face lit up when she saw him.

  
"Hey, sweet! How'd you get in?"

  
"I had no trouble," he beamed. She escorted him inside, and took his coat. He followed her over to the sofa, and he perched on the edge, fiddling with his fingers. She cocked her head at him, and took his hands in both of hers.

  
"What's chewing you up?"

  
"Oh, nothing." He dabbed at the few beads of sweat which had accumulated on his forehead. "It sure is warm in here," he added, trying to cover himself.

  
"I like it hot," she winked. He laughed. Noticing his apparent discomfort, she squeezed his hands. "How's your day been, hon?"

  
"Oh, you know." He faltered. "Just the usual stuff. Baking stuff. You know, I had the cutest old lady come in today. Reminded me of my Grandma. Was real interested in all of the creatures. Wanted to know if I'd ever seen any of them. Told her I dreamt them all up. Hah." He relaxed as he spoke, and he squeezed Queenie's hands in return. She gazed at him, intrigued, and smiled encouragingly at him between sentences.

  
He'd never had anyone so interested in him before. He'd been one of many, a member of a big family, and he'd had to try so hard to impress anyone, to stand out. He'd always been good at baking, but his brothers had been better looking, smarter, sharper, and he'd been the bottom of the back. Charismatic and likeable, yeah - but those things didn't really make one stand out. Being good at talking to people wasn't exactly a niche skill. His Grandma had always had a special fondness for him, though - saving him an extra slice of pie after the others had scarpered.

  
He adjusted himself slowly, leaning back instead of balancing himself on the edge of the cushions. Queenie moved with him, slotting herself under his arm as she chattered about her day. Most of his focus was spent on blocking himself from thinking about the ring hidden in his pocket, tucked away from sight and - hopefully - from mind. Both his and Queenie's.

  
They stayed like that for a while, sharing stories and chattering aimlessly, companionably, until Queenie's head sunk further onto Jacob's shoulder and she started to doze. He looked down at her golden head and smiled, before placing a small kiss upon the crown of it.

  
He picked her up carefully, gently, and carried her into her bedroom. He tucked her under the covers, and cautiously lay on top of the sheets. He put and arm round her, but tried to stay a respectful distance away.

  
She shuffled back against him in her sleep, anchoring herself to his warmth. He sighed. Tina wasn't home, and he had good intentions, but he still felt as though he was cheapening Queenie, and what she meant to him. He gave her one last squeeze, and went to leave, thoughts of the ring forgotten entirely.

  
"Jacob?" Queenie had rolled over in an attempt to follow his body heat and comfort. He paused, mid-step.

  
"Hey," he cooed, smiling at her ruffled curls. She blinked, doe-eyed, and smiled softly in return.

  
"You're hiding something from me," she said, pulling the duvet down as she sat up. She rubbed sleepily at her eyes, and yawned, but her expression remained quizzical and very much awake. "Your mind feels different. You're normally so open with me. Have I done something wrong? Or have you?" Her eyes narrowed. "Jacob, please. I implore you." She fluttered her lashes. "Tell me."

  
"Oh, sweetheart!" He exclaimed. "You ain't done nothing wrong, and neither have I, I don't think," he laughed. "I was gonna leave it, you're so cute when you sleep, but seein' as you're awake now..."

  
"Yes?" Her eyes sparkled with interest.

  
"I have something for you. Queenie, you mean so much to me. I know it ain't been long, so don't think this is more than it is. I don't want you to think me presumptuous, but I also don't want you to think I'm taking you for granted, or havin' you on." He ruffled the back of his hair as he collected his thoughts. "Queenie, honestly, darlin'. You're my world, y'know? So I want you to have this. It's, well, just a promise. I want to honour you as you deserve. You're the most beautiful girl in the world, and I- I- well, I-"

  
"I love you," Queenie cut in, beaming as Jacob stuttered over the words.

  
He gently prised the ring from his pocket as he sat next to her on the bed. "I love you," he said, hands shaking as he handed her the ring. Without hesitation, she slipped it onto her ring finger.

  
"A promise ring? Ain't you the cutest." She flung her arms around his shoulders, and moved her body so that it lay flush against his.

  
The window was open. A light breeze ruffled their hair, their clothes. They sat like that for an eternity, content in each other's company, watching some stars get brighter, and some fade into the darkness.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"You think it'll work?"

  
Newt's mother smiled at him, her eyes crinkling like crepe paper and folding into crow's feet around the edges. She felt old, watching her son bounce back from injury and start planning to do something he really believed was right. She'd been like that, when she was young, and she was glad she'd passed it on to her youngest son. Theseus, too, for that matter, was bull-headed and fierce, determined to do what was right and just; but Newt had a sensitivity about him that came from her, whilst Theseus's belligerence and passion came from their father.

  
Having her boys back in the house filled her with a warmth that she'd missed whilst they'd been away, but they had their own lives and adventures to lead now. And she would help them in any way she could.

  
"I'm certain of it. As far as we know, the hippogriffs have been retained in the pen you were stationed at for training, until transportation to their new homes can be arranged. They've been fed, twice daily, by the grounds keeper of that small area of forestry, acting on the orders of the Ministry. Two of them have been re-homed already, to a small breeders up North. That leaves eight of them in the paddocks. The one you need is the big grey. You said he was the most nervous?"

  
"Yes, so that may prove to be difficult. He let me stroke him, and seemed rather content, so I'm hoping that if I can gain his trust he should come with me, pop straight into the case."

  
"Are you sure you don't want me to fight a bit harder, see if I can take him in?"

  
"He is the most built, and would probably make good foals." Newt considered the easy option his mother was offering, one last time. "No, no, I don't think so. I think he needs more than that kind of easy life, you see. He needs freedom, not confinement. And I will find him that freedom."

  
"I know you will, sweetheart."

  
"What times does the grounds keeper come again?"

  
"He does a morning check at eight, and he gives them their morning feed when that is finished, usually at nine. Your brother managed to get that out of that nice clerk he works with, Matilda. From nine until four, the coast is relatively clear. I say relatively because it is still monitored, and human beings are unpredictable, to say the least. You need to be careful, Newt, if you choose to go in the day. You do have another option, however."

  
"Go at night?"

  
"Exactly, you go at night. Now, this adds other elements which could be harder to resolve. The hippogriff is more likely to be on high alert, as their genetics are a combination of predator and prey animals. My knowledge here comes only from working with them for so long, but those prey instincts seem more apparent at night, when there are more potential risks afoot."

  
"Makes perfect sense," Newt nodded, following his mother's words intently. "I've done a little research on them, of course, and I think daytime is safer."

  
"Besides, a patrol during the day is probably easier to evade, and if not, you're good at talking yourself out of situations." He smirked. "Suspicious activity at night may be harder to talk yourself out of."

  
"Very good point. So tomorrow, between nine and four. I think half ten. Close enough after he's gone that there's little danger of him coming back, but not so soon that he may return if he forgets anything. Maybe eleven. I'll gauge it when I arrive."

  
"Is your brother going with you?"

  
"No. I shall go alone."

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Newt was crouched behind the small stump of a tree. His leg ached from remaining in one position for so long, but one small noise could evoke capture.

He tried to pull it in closer, but the leaves underfoot started to crunch. His ears strained to hear what was happening.

It had been going so well, too, he sighed to himself.

He’d arrived at ten to eleven, apparating in a short but safe distance from the clearing. He’d rather liked the idea of riding a thestral in, charging over and flying away, but he knew that wasn’t the best solution. (Well, he considered, his mother had told him it wasn’t the best idea. He was quite keen on it. She was right, though.) There had been no trace of anybody in the woods, let alone the clearing.

Newt’s hand had tightened around the handle of his case, palms dampening with a light sweat. He’d managed to get into the enclosure with no difficulty, leaving his case on the ground before wiping his hands on his trousers, and clambering over the new, higher fencing.

The hippogriffs turned on him as one, and something inside his gut had clenched. He’d tried to shake away the feeling, and took a deep breath. He’d made acquaintances with them all before, so he’d hoped it wouldn’t be too much of a trial to get in and out.

He’d approached them one by one, bowing and receiving a bow by each in turn as they remembered him. He slipped back out, and brought each of them a ferret from his case; in his eagerness, he’d forgotten to drag the case into the enclosure with him.

It lay, unobtrusive on the ground, partially hidden by undergrowth and moss.

He’d singled out the hippogriff he needed, and approached it carefully. His focus was directed entirely on the creature; any thoughts of exposure or discovery had paled into insignificance as he took in the sight of the great beast.

The wings tucked in tighter as Newt came closer, but the hippogriff stretched out his neck, accepting the ferret and a stroke along its firm neck. It had seemed a little skittish, and Newt had done his best to soothe him, forcing down the ill feeling in his stomach. There were small vibrations of pain pulsating deep in his side, and one hand was clasped down in an attempt to numb the pain, whilst the other ran down the hippogriff, patting and stroking gently.

A vein popped in Newt’s neck, and he stifled a painful groan. He was rapidly becoming frustrated: he was meant to be better, he was meant to be well enough to do this, and the long healing process was taking its toll on his psyche. He’d always been a _get on with it now, worry about it later_ kind of person, and it was irritating him that he was struggling so much.

The hippogriff had been nuzzling at his long coat, searching for more ferret meat, when things had turned awry.

Pickett had snuck into Newt’s breast pocket earlier that morning, wanting to make sure his human wasn’t putting himself in undue danger. He had to look after him, after all.

When Pickett had felt a large beak poking around next to him, he’d jumped. It was natural.

When the hippogriff had caught sight of the bowtruckle, it too had jumped.

Newt had remained calm, despite his initial burst of instinctive fear. Having caught sight of Pickett, he’d lifted him out of his pocket fully, given him an entirely disparaging look, and gently tucked him inside of his sleeve instead.

The hippogriff was eyeing him carefully, but was assuaged when Newt threw him another ferret.

“Are you gonna come with me, yeah? It’ll be nice in the case,” he’d cooed. It was then that he realised he’d left his case outside of the enclosure.

He let his head flop backwards in annoyance, before tugging at the open lapels of his coat.

“Please, stay there.” A beady yellow eye had met his. He’d hoped that was, at the very least, acknowledgement, but preferably acceptance and agreement.

He’d scrambled back over the fence with ease, but had been struggling to locate his brown case amongst the brown leaves when he’d heard voices.

And that was how he’d ended up crouched behind a tree stump.

He could see his case, now; it was ten feet or so from where he’d skidded away from the voices. Three people stood, arms all crossed, leaning against the fence around the enclosure.

He could just make out their figures: it seemed to be two men, with a woman stood in the middle. He was trying desperately to hear what they were saying, but could only hear the occasional word or utterance.

“Good size,” he caught wind of, followed by:

“Suppose so... Big one? No?”

“Not that one.”

“Dangerous.”

Newt’s face creased in anger at this. There were no dangerous creatures, only uneducated, inexperienced trainers and owners.

“Got the trainer, that one.”

“… Happening with it?”

“Not for me to disclose, Ma’am.”

Newt was struggling, not only with the uncomfortable position of his leg, but also with the pain in his side; it would beat with his heart, and the increased adrenaline caused by the situation was only increasing the tenderness of his side.

“… Others safe?”

“Safe… Hippogriff can be.”

Newt was drifting in and out of the conversation, as his ability to listen was waning: blood was pounding in his temples, behind his eyes, and he had to move. In his current position, his right leg was outstretched, and he needed the added balance that would come from having it underneath him.

The woman seemed to be deliberating which of the hippogriffs she wanted to take home, looking to the man to her right for approval as she pointed a few out. Newt deemed them distracted enough to be able to pull his leg in, and - ever so slowly - he began to pull it closer to his body.

The leaves rustled, but none of the people turned. He managed to secure his leg under him, and he leant back against the tree, relieved for the time being.

The man to the right of the woman turned away from the pen, seemingly bored with the process. He caught sight of something brown sticking out of the mossy, overgrown ground, and wandered over – to Newt’s case.

Newt inhaled his exasperated groan as he watched the man lumber towards his case. Knowing that he’d been unable to find it, he’d assumed that they also would leave it undetected.

He’d been wrong.

The man was closer to Newt now. As he stepped into the dappled light of the clearing and away from the pen it became apparent that he was older. He held his breath as the stranger bent, with some difficulty, to reach the handle.

“What’ve you got there, Father?” The lady had followed the elder man over, seeming to be cautious around him, and somewhat overprotective.

Pickett scampered up Newt’s sleeve, trying to see what was happening. Newt helped him onto his shoulder, but his eyes never broke contact with his case.

The other man, who had remained at the fence until now, stepped forward. “What is it?”

“Just an old case.” She turned her attention to her father. “Come on, Father, and you can pick out whichever one you like best.”

The old man nodded, and Newt could imagine, and almost hear, a loud creak as his spine straightened.

The woman turned to the younger, bulkier man as she took her father’s arm. “He used to love all of these magical creatures. He can’t speak anymore – he’s a squib, you see, and fought in the war. Shell shock, I think they’re calling it, soldier’s heart, battle fatigue.”

“I understand, Ma’am. That’s a real shame, Sir.” He smiled kindly at the older gentleman, and he nodded graciously in return. They reconvened at the enclosure, and their conversation became too quiet for Newt to make out once more.

He let out a small, hesitant, sigh of relief. He’d been trying desperately to hold his breath, to breathe quietly, the entire time they’d been close.

Pickett crossed his arms, and looked disapprovingly at Newt. He shook his head at Pickett, murmuring to him: “Leave it. Save it for later.”

Pickett, sulking, slunk back into his breast pocket.

The people stayed for what felt like forever; Newt’s heartbeat never slowed, and he became increasingly uncomfortable, through the combination of the pain and the discomfort of his position. The elder man seemed taken with one of the smaller hippogriffs, with a friendlier eye than most of the others. The man accompanying them took them off to sign some papers elsewhere, and Newt saw what may be his only chance to rescue the hippogriff.

Once the sound of their footsteps had receded, Newt slipped out from behind the tree stump. He grabbed his case as soon as it was within reach; he gripped the handle so tightly that his knuckles nearly burst through his skin.

He held out his penultimate ferret for the hippogriff, and – thankfully – it accepted it hungrily. He opened his case, and, using the final ferret, led the hippogriff in.

 

* * *

 

 

“He did what? Queenie!”

“I know! Ain’t it sweet?”

Tina sighed, smiling. Her sister had just broken the news that Jacob had gone ahead with his plan, and they were both over the moon.

Queenie held her hand out for inspection. Tina admired the way it glistened under the light, and the sentiment behind it, rather than the flashy, overstated appeal that clearly showed Jacob had thought about Queenie whilst purchasing it.

“He’s taking me out tonight, too,” Queenie beamed.

“Are you sure that’s safe?” Tina’s concern didn’t dampen her sister’s enthusiasm.

“Who cares, Teenie? I’m young and in love.” She batted her eyelashes at her sister.

“Be careful.”

“I will.” Queenie winked. Tina rolled her eyes.

“You worry me.”

“I know.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you think he’s managed it?”

Theseus considered his mother’s question, rolling his tea around in the delicate mug before taking a small sip. “It’s Newt. Of course he has.”

She smiled. Her eyes sparkled with thinly veiled mirth, which she doubted Theseus would much respect. “He is a marvel. Oh, how I do miss you boys.”

“We’re home now,” replied Theseus, words kept curt and concise, so as to avoid showing undue emotion. His mother smiled; he was so different to Newt, who was all shy smiles and wide eyes and unruly hair – and unruly behaviour.

She leant forward in her chair. “Has he mentioned her to you?”

“Her?” Theseus raised an eyebrow.

“Miss Goldstein. He spluttered her name out, in his sleep, when he was still healing. He spoke of a Jacob, and a Queenie, but he kept repeating her name: Tina. Tina, Miss Goldstein, Tina.”

“He has.”

“And?”

“I don’t see that that is any business of yours, Mother,” Theseus teased.

“He’s my son. I want to know about you, too. How’s Matilda?”

“Who’s Matilda?”

“You are impossible! I shall ask Newt instead.”

“Ask me what?” Newt stepped into the room, dishevelled from apparating into the garden rather than the house by mistake. His thoughts had been focused on the dining room, but a surge of pain had made him lose track of his thoughts: thus, the garden. He carried with him his case, which he set down gently on the floor as he took a seat.

Thoughts of titillating young women momentarily forgotten, his mother turned to him with a broad smile. “Did it go according to plan?”

“When does anything ever go to plan?” Newt laughed. “I managed it, and we’re back, safe and sound, no harm done.” Newt’s hand remained discreetly at his side; he tried desperately to ignore the repeated thumping of pain splitting him apart.

“Jolly good.” Theseus clapped his younger brother on the back as he stood.

“I’d like to take a walk in the gardens, Newt. Would you care to join me?”

“Of course, Mother.”

“Theseus?”

“I’m afraid I must be getting back. I missed four raids last night.”

“Four?” Newt’s eyebrows disappeared under his mop of fringe.

“Four indeed, Newt. We don’t all lead the life of leisure you do. So I must, most unfortunately, be off.”

Theseus bent to kiss his mother gently on the cheek. Newt stood to bid his brother farewell.

As his weight shifted, the pain overwhelmed him; white noise filled his ears, and his vision faded to black.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the gap between updates! Thank you all for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting. <3


	12. Chapter 12

 

 

Newt awoke at a most inopportune time.

He blinked slowly, fumbling his way back into the daylight. Strangely, he noted, was that all he could think was that a hippogriff wouldn’t trust him, blinking so much as he seemed to be. He made an effort to stop, like a foal accepting that it could not yet stand, and he shut his eyes once more, choosing instead to simply listen.

“Unexpected complications?” A cold hiss, which sounded something like his father.

“Yes, dear.” That was undoubtedly his mother. Their voices were muffled, suggesting that they had their backs to him.

“We’re going to try to wake him again, Ma’am. But we can only use this potion in small doses, else we may bring on hysteria. After this attempt, we may simply have to let him awaken in his own time.”

“But it’s been hours-“

“We know, Ma’am.”

“Come on, Mary. He’ll be fine.”

Newt felt someone moving towards him, and blinked owlishly. He didn’t want to be hysterical; that would only concern his mother more.

He opened his eyes fully, and took in his surroundings: he was lying supine on the same bed he’d been sentenced to stay in before. Brilliant, he thought, as he tried desperately to focus his vision on the middle-aged woman scurrying towards him.

“Merlin’s beard! He’s awake.”

Newt coughed, his eyes streaming in the light, his face ruddy with the effort of keeping his focus in one place.

“Newt!” His mother turned, long blonde hair splaying with the momentum as she spun.

“We’ve been worried,” intoned his father, who placed a large hand on his wife’s shoulder.

“So have I,” he rasped, a half smile playing about his face nonetheless.

“Why didn’t you say something?” His mother looked confused, her expression somewhere muddled between disbelief, relief, and irritation.

“Didn’t want to worry you.”

“Well, we were doubly worried when you collapsed on the kitchen floor.”

“Sorry.” Newt’s cheeks and ear-tips burned red, and he looked away.

The healer stepped forward, smiling reassuringly first at his parents, and then him. “Some of the effects may be a little more long-term than we’d hoped, but you should feel great improvement fairly soon, Mr. Scamander.”

Newt looked up, smiling slightly as she continued.

“There seem to have been a number of substances which were suffused in the hippogriff’s talons.” She paused, and reached for a clipboard, which she checked, and clucked pitifully at. “The superficial damage was easy enough to heal, but nobody anticipated anything more than incisions and broken bones. However,” she took a breath, and with steely determination met his gaze. “We’ve theories only, of how somebody would do this, but nothing concrete, nothing solid. But it seems, when you were attacked, your body was infected by a not-insignificant amount of Death-Cap Draught, and Drink of Despair.”

“Oh, Newt,” his mother breathed, sympathy lacing her voice.

Newt could still hear conversation, but he’d receded into thought the moment the healer had stopped speaking.

He could think of only one name, carving a hollow in his head every time it rounded his skull.

_Grindelwald._

 

* * *

 

Newt spent much of his two-week journey ruminating aboard the ship. He would pace, he would write, and he would think.

Grindelwald had been fascinated by creatures as a means of preaching his ideologies; Newt had noticed, with every small thing he’d let slip, that he wanted new means of disposing of muggles.

Newt was fascinated by creatures. Did that mean that Grindelwald was also fascinated by him?

He still struggled with bouts of dizziness, but the Antidote to Uncommon Poisons the healer had prescribed him was helping immensely. He was still a little wobbly, but he was managing far better than he had been previously.

He thought of his creatures: he thought of how he couldn’t release the hippogriff, now; he thought of how happy they’d be to see Jacob, and Queenie, and Tina.

He thought of Tina most of all, even more so than Grindelwald.

He thought of Tina, and every time he did so, he would smile.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Queenie,” Tina hissed.

“What’s up, doll?”

“Queenie, come and read this right now.”

A small note, penned in a familiar, scribbled hand, was unfolded and lay upon the kitchen table; Tina had dropped it, as though stung, once she’d finished reading. The sisters shared a look, before Queenie leant forward and picked it up gently.

_I’m outside._

“Well, go and let him in, then!” Queenie beamed.

As Tina scurried towards the door, Queenie peered out of the window to the ground below. There stood Newt, his case close to his right foot. He was wearing the same blue coat as before; he seemed a little more pale, a little thinner, but otherwise the same. His hair lay in an unruly tangle atop his head. In his hands he held a neatly trimmed square of parchment, and Queenie could just make out one large shape on the front of it, before he turned it over in his hands, and folded it down, so as to slip it back into his breast pocket.

He moved his weight anxiously from one foot to the other. The clasp on his case popped open, and he shut it absentmindedly. She saw his hand come up to grasp at his side, and his infinitesimal wince, and she cocked her head in curiosity.

Queenie, with a suspiciously conspicuous look of innocence, tuned into his thoughts.

_Tina, the week we spent together, during the aftermath-_

_Tina, I’ve missed you-_

_Tina, I-_

_Hello, Tina-_

_I should really be more composed, it isn’t as though I’ve had enough time to plan this-_

“Tina!”

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

 

_1904_

 

“The horklumps are back, mummy.” Newt looked up at his mother in earnest, and she squeezed her youngest son’s hand, her eyes meeting his warmly.

“I’ll see about getting some gnomes, darling.”

“No!” Newt was aghast. “I like playing with them. Sometimes. They don’t do much.”

“Want to know something?” Her eyes twinkled.

“Always,” he replied in earnest. His expression belied his enthusiasm, but his desire to learn was entirely serious.

“You remember I told you about the Ministry of Magic?” At Newt’s nod, she continued. “It’s split into different divisions and departments. There’s one department, which deals with the regulation and control of magical creatures. They have a way to classify creatures, so we know which ones are dangerous.”

Newt snorted. “The horklumps aren’t. They’re boring.”

“That’s exactly how they’re classified,” his mother laughed, the sound tinkling like wind chimes. Newt thought it was a beautiful noise. “One cross, boring. You like the hippogriffs, don’t you?”

He beamed. “I love them,” he intoned, conveying his sincerity through concrete eye contact.

“They have three crosses, which means that competent wizards should cope with them.”

“Like you,” Newt smiled.

“And you!” She offered a broad grin of encouragement.

They were walking through central London, in one of the muggle-populated areas. They were headed to see a retired naturalist (“Alfred Russell Wallace” had been a name Newt had stumbled over multiple times before being able to pronounce correctly) hold a lecture regarding natural selection; though it was to be about muggle creatures, rather than magical beasts, Newt’s mother had followed his work since her reading of _The Malay Archipelago,_ and she thought her littlest son would enjoy it.

As they walked, hand in hand, Newt watched the people and horses surrounding him. Buildings towered above them, which he gazed at in enraptured wonderment. Heavy hooves hitting the roads and arid conversation filled the early morning air, and he dawdled as he tried to see everything that was happening around him.

A couple walked past them, the woman’s skirts billowing as she trotted alongside her husband; her dainty boots, lined with buttons, clacked on the ground as she tried to match his strides. He slowed his pace to match hers, and she turned to him with an expression of love and gratitude so magnetic that Newt felt his heart swell.

A horse shied in the street, but Newt paid it no heed. He was thinking.

The man grinned impishly at the lady, and she picked up her skirts to quicken her pace. He assured her that he was merely joking; their voices carried with the light breeze that ruffled Newt’s reddish-brown mop of hair. She pinched the bridge of her nose in faux irritation, before giving a broad smile in return. Newt thought they looked as though they were sparkling, when they looked at each other. The man proffered his arm, and she took it gracefully. As she moved to slip her hand into the crook of his elbow, she caught sight of the small, clumsy-looking boy watching them. She smiled politely, but her eyes lit up when she saw his bewildered expression. She gave him a delicate wave, before sliding her hand into its designated spot. She gave her husband a small squeeze, and over the waves of dull and dry murmurings came the sound of genuine laughter and fondness as they spoke.

Newt knew that he annoyed people. He could tell, because when he got excited about something, they looked at him as though they wished he would stop. He couldn’t help himself, sometimes.

Newt knew that he preferred animals to people. Animals liked him. They didn’t find him annoying.

But Newt thought that maybe – just maybe – if he could find something like that, one day, he’d perhaps like people, too.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_1927_

“Tina!” Newt’s heart swelled as he saw her fling open the door, the recurrent wind blowing her hair back from her face. This enlarged her eyes, he thought absently, as his body moved towards her without conscious instruction.

She paused in the doorway; she caught herself on the frame, bringing her momentum (built up from flying down the stairs) to an immediate halt.

Mirroring her movements, he paused in his approach in order to gauge her reaction. He wanted to embrace her, to hold her in his arms, to bury his face in her hair and just _breathe_ in the familiar scent of her.

“Newt!” She breathed, his name scrambling to find its way from her lips. It found him like a caress; warm and soft and sweet and _Tina_. She longed to touch him, to trace from his lips to his collarbone, to feel the rugged wool of that ever-present blue coat as he held her.

But they remained in place, locked within their own uncertainty. Newt’s fingertips trembled with the desire to feel her; his mouth moved wordlessly, struggling to find the right thing to say.

And then Tina leapt forwards, her face breaking into a smile, and she rushed into his arms. He remained, stock-still, for a moment; then he too fell into action, cradling her gently but firmly, as though he never wanted to let go.

“Missed you,” she murmured, and he nodded his assent, his stubble catching against her hair.

“I’ve missed you also,” he said, mumbling into her windswept tresses.

They remained in place for what may have been forever, but felt like seconds as soon as Newt, fumbling uncomfortably, released Tina and stepped back. He ran a hand through his hair, and she felt an overwhelming need to push her own hand into his hair, to smooth it flat, and to pull his face flush to hers.

But instead they stood, until Newt broke into an awkward, but immensely fond, smile.

They both went to speak at the same time:

“Thank you for your-“

“How have you-“

They laughed. Then:

“No, you go-“

“You go-“

Tina, becoming impatient, dug the toes of her brogues into the ground, dragging one foot along. She spoke first, aware that Newt would faff all day if only he could.

“How have you been?”

Newt flushed red, his cheeks turning ruddy underneath his freckles. “Well, Miss Goldstein. Thank you. And I must thank you for your letters.”

“Don’t be silly. I liked writing you.”

“Your hair has grown,” he said, his eyes wandering about her face, her body. He stepped forwards again, and gently pushed a lock behind her ear. She looked up at him, her smile bemused but fond.

“It has. Now come in! It’s been ages since your last letter. I was worried.”

“You were?” His head tilted like that of a puppy; he gazed at her in wonderment, unused to being cared for in such a way. She led him into the house, making a shushing gesture at him as they came inside.

“Of course,” she said, matter-of-fact.

Queenie pulled open the door, her eyes full of mischief; she had heard everything. Tina rolled her eyes at her younger sister as the passed, but Newt paused, offering Queenie a hand. She took it gracefully, and inclined her head, before taking his coat. He removed it carefully, ensuring that Pickett hadn’t crawled onto his person at any point.

“Hey, Newt.” Queenie fluttered her eyelashes at him. Newt felt disconcertingly as though she harboured a knowledge he did not.

“Queenie,” he smiled. The sisters marched him towards the dining table, upon which lay a pitcher full of what appeared to be Pinnock’s finest gigglewater.

They sank into their respective seats – Tina and Queenie on either side of Newt – and began their interrogation.

An hour or so later, they all three were merry, the pitcher considerably drained. Queenie’s laugh tinkled sweetly about the room, and Newt guffawed raucously at one of Tina’s sly comments. His cheeks and ears burned red from laughter, yet he accepted Queenie’s offer of another shot, tipping it clumsily down the back of his throat.

The fire crackled heartily in the background, lighting their faces with flickers of shadow and warmth. It caught on Tina’s teeth as she smiled, and Newt’s eyes, making them sparkle and his eyelashes appear longer with the tiny shadows cast.

“Come on,” Queenie intoned, impatient, fixing a fumbling gaze at Newt. He turned to her sloppily, having never been much of a drinker; he caught himself on the edge of the table, pulled himself upright, and pretended as though he had not just been caught. Tina bellowed her appreciation, her laughter raw and pure as he pulled it from her.

“You are _ridiculous_ ,” she gasped, snorting as she tried to fill her lungs, which only caused them all to divulge into giggles once more. Queenie, working around laughter herself, tried to shush the pair of them.

“What’s happened to you, Newt? You’ve been gone so long, honey. Tina was starting to think you was never coming back.”

“Of _course_ I was coming back.”

“Well, we can see that now,” Tina offered, dryly.

“I have news.” Newt blinked, trying to regain his focus by staring insolently and determinedly at the mantelpiece. Watching it sway made him feel sick, so he shut his eyes instead, and titled his head up to the ceiling.

Unbeknownst to him, Tina watched as he swallowed, admiring his slender neck and the bob of his adam’s apple. The sisters stayed quiet, waiting for him to speak.

“It turns out that the hippogriff attack – well, it wasn’t an attack, as such, not really, probably my fault – was deadlier than anticipated. The hippogriff had somehow – and I’m not sure how, yet, but I will find out – had somehow been given the ability to inject deadly poison through use of its talons. I was at the receiving end.” Finally opening his eyes, he met the concerned faces of the other two, their mouths both set in an identical grim line. “I stayed for so long to free it, before I knew. How glad I am of that now.” His mouth quirked up, ever so slightly, in one corner.

“There were a few days between this discovery, and when I had to leave. To come here,” he added, unnecessarily. “I spent them with my mother, and the hippogriff. But so far, there is only one conclusion I keep arriving at.”

“Grindelwald,” Queenie breathed, her eyes fearful despite the sheen from the liquor.

Tina sighed heavily, the haze of the gigglewater vanishing in an instant. The very name struck fear into her heart; having seen what he was capable of in the aftermath of his capture, she was scared. Especially so due to Newt’s close call the first time; and, now, the hippogriff attack, which had happened to him yet again.

Caring for him after the loss of Credence, and his physical wounds, had been painful on them both. Queenie tried to block out Tina’s thoughts as she fell into the memory.

 

* * *

 

 

_1926_

Tina was alone in the kitchen. Queenie had sloped off into her room, masterfully hiding her tears; but Tina knew they were there, why she’d disappeared.

Tina had cried, after they’d left Jacob. Newt had held her softly, tenderly, and a little fearfully, worrying that he was being invasive. She’d clung to him, her tears soaking into the wool of his coat.

Now, however, Newt had gone too. He’d scurried into his case the moment they’d returned home, without a word to either of them.

Idly, Tina stirred the hot cocoa she’d made as a peace offering. She considered rapping on the lid of the case, but instead she ventured inside without making the occupants aware of her entrance, dangling off of the ladder with one hand free, to hold the warm mug.

“I thought you might want a hot drink,” she offered to his back. He shrugged his shoulders, and Tina saw his arm move towards his face. He turned; it was apparent that he’d been scrubbing angrily at his tears with a dirty hand.

She moved slowly, cautiously, towards him, as one would approach a wild animal. He looked up at her, child-like in his movements, and carefully took the cup from her, smiling despite his bleary eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. She lay a hand on his shoulder before sitting down next to him, where he was splayed on the floor.

He’d ripped one of his trouser legs up to the knee, and she was horrified to see dried blood caking his shin. The rest of his body was covered in small marks, cuts, and bruises, and Tina felt tears welling up once more.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice cracked and broken from crying.

“Want me to-?”

“Please,” he nodded.

Tina healed his leg with ease, before scouring the rest of his body for obvious injury.

“How did you do that?” She pressed, gently.

“Grindelwald. I was trying to talk to Credence. He was _listening_ , Tina.” Newt’s frustration ebbed into his voice.

“I know,” she soothed, leaning her head onto his shoulder. He rested his upon her hair in return.

“I wish I could have taken Frank home,” he murmured into her hair. She reached up, slowly, to lay her palm against his cheek. He leant into the touch, and she felt a warm wetness seeping between her fingers.

“You didn’t let him down, Newt,” she said, apprehending his fears.

“I want to visit him, one day. Come with me?”

“Always.”

She intertwined their fingers, and they rested a while longer; until the sun had set over the erumpent’s plains, and even the niffler was quiet in sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

_1927_

 

An owl’s beak rapped loudly against the glass, shocking the amassed group from their thoughts. Queenie ventured to the window, taking the note and offering the owl a small scratch behind the ears.

“It’s for you, Teenie.”

 

**_From the Desk of Seraphina Picquery, President of MACUSA_ **

**_To the Desk of Porpentina Goldstein, Investigative Auror_ **

_Tina,_

_I must request your presence immediately. Regretfully, it is unsafe to make you aware as to why in this manner._

_A portkey will appear in your apartment momentarily. I hope to see you shortly._

_Seraphina Picquery_

 


	14. Chapter 14

 

 

“Miss Goldstein. Take a seat.”

Tina pulled out a chair, and sat next to Graves, who was also opposite Picquery. She had arrived moments ago in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and had been ushered in to Picquery’s office.

“What’s with the urgency, Madame President?” Tina chewed her lower lip anxiously, and Graves offered her a reassuring smile. He’d begun to fill out, finding his way back to himself since Tina had given him work to do, rather than just blind sympathy.

His face fell, however, at Picquery’s next words.

“Grindelwald is gone. This is a case of the utmost urgency, Miss Goldstein. I have called upon you and Graves as you got the closest to him.”

Tina gathered herself as Picquery spoke, trying to remain composed.

“We have had a security guard stationed with him at all times, on a constant cycle. His cell was inescapable; the guard turned away from his vigil for ‘less than a second’, and he had vanished.”

Graves was aghast; his mouth fell open in a tiny ‘o’ that may have, in other circumstances, been comical. Tina, for her part, spluttered a “How?” which Picquery took in her stride.

“We don’t know, Miss Goldstein. That’s where you and Mr. Graves come in. We want you to work out how he escaped, and where he went. Just about the only thing we do know is why.”

“Why?” Tina asked, muted and sombre.

“To wreak havoc upon the Wizarding World. To bring about a war between no-majs and our kind.”

With that, Picquery stood. She strode from the room, her robes swaying behind her.

 

* * *

 

 

Tina stumbled home in a daze. She hadn’t wanted to apparate; she’d needed time to think.

Graves, fumbling, had offered her coffee, and a chance to mull things over. She’d insisted that she was very grateful, but needed to be alone.

She took great, marching strides, her brogues clapping against the ground harder and harder with every step. Her thoughts were focused on the feeling on her muscles moving in time, a symphony of movement; she paid no heed to where she was going, trusting herself to find her way home without conscious direction.

It was only when she heard crashing waves that she realised she’d almost definitely taken a wrong turn somewhere.

Sighing, she moved towards the dock’s edge, sitting heavily on a bench facing the water. The grey water slapped at the grey stones. She felt utterly miserable.

She remembered when Newt had left, before. How he’d paused on the ramp; how she’d wanted to run up after him. His funny out-turned toes as he’d walked away. She’d tried to keep her thoughts on his sweet, funny walk as the steamer had pulled away from the dock, so that she didn’t cry as he departed. Keeping her mind full was the best way for her to remain focused.

She used that tactic now, thinking in depth about the differences between her wand and Newt’s. Hers was a little heavier, and infinitely more practical. Newt’s was covered in tiny chips and bangs, undoubtedly from his miscellaneous adventures.

Underlying these somewhat mundane thoughts, however, was the knowledge that Grindelwald was _gone._ Her mind whizzed away, deciding that _where_ was infinitely more important than _how_ – for the time being, at least. She used the distraction to keep her mind on track, needing to have no space in her brain to be caught off-guard.

She used the distraction to keep her from worrying about her sister, about Jacob, and even more so, about Newt. Newt was a capable wizard, but she was unused to having more to worry about than just herself and Queenie. And Grindelwald seemed almost _fascinated_ by Newt.

She didn’t know how to begin searching for him. Things were going to get bad, she could tell.

She didn’t want to abandon her work, but she had no leads. She knew she’d have to talk to Newt. But she didn’t want to ruin his visit just yet.

She stood, brushing off the seat of her trousers. She’d made a decision.

 

* * *

 

 

Newt stood, stock still, in shock. His hands lay limply at his sides. Then he turned, his face alight with pure wonderment.

“This – this is incredible, Jacob!”

His eyes shone as he moved, ever so slowly, around the bakery upon entering. His fingers gently brushed the edges of the displays, and occasionally he’d pause, particularly mesmerised by one creature or another.

Queenie had decided, after Tina had left, that the evening was still young; so she’d apparated over to Oxford Street, into a dingy side-alley unlit by glowing streetlamps, to show Newt Jacob’s bakery.

“Hey, thanks, Newt.” Jacob beamed. Queenie, stood beside him, gave his hand a quick squeeze.

Newt was especially enchanted by the nifflers, some sat up, others lying down. Jacob, noticing this, came over and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Take one,” he grinned. “You inspired them – heck, you gave me the collateral to open this damned place.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Newt smiled. “They’re too lovely to eat.”

“Good thing the customers don’t think that, huh,” Queenie giggled.

“You should make bowtruckles,” Newt said, head titled as he looked at the spiralling platter of creatures in the window. “You could, uh, have a display, that looked like a tree, with the little bowtruckles all clinging on.”

“You do have a soft spot for Pickett,” Queenie teased.

“I just think it’s rather unfair to have left him out. You have a demiguise, an occamy, a niffler, even the erumpent that almost killed you, Jacob – but no bowtruckle.” Newt smirked.

Jacob laughed, one great burst of joy springing forth from deep within his chest. He was overwhelmed by Newt’s response to his work.

He scurried about, hurriedly closing up. He’d dismissed the minimal staff he’d had in earlier, and stayed late himself to check that the books were all in order.

Having flipped the sign on the door to closed, and removing the ‘Help Wanted’ sign from the window – he now had ample staff – he ushered the pair into the back, and offered them a seat. Newt sat upon a worktop, whilst Queenie gathered her skirts up and sat delicately upon a small, hard-backed wooden chair. Jacob pulled up a somewhat bizarre rocking chair, the legs intricately carved and the gaps between them and the rollers filled with interwoven pieces of wood.

“It was my grandma’s,” he said, acknowledging their looks. “She got it in the 1860’s, kept it for my ma. When she passed away it got handed down to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Newt mumbled.

“It’s alright,” he smiled. “So!” He exclaimed, clapping his hands together. Newt jumped; Queenie laughed. “How are you? I’ve been worried, you know.”

“Yes, I’m very well now, thank you. And yourself? You have your memory back, that’s wonderful!”

They chatted amicably for a time, and Newt steeled himself to ask Queenie a very important question. Eventually, she got fed up of feeling the desire rolled around and around in his head, so she probed him to spit it out.

“What d’ya take me for, Newt? A Dumb Dora? Just ask me.”

“I – uh, well –“ he stuttered.

“What’s going on?” Jacob asked, baffled.

“Newt has something he really simply _must_ ask me,” Queenie mocked, gently.

“It’s something of a delicate matter.” Newt had, by this point, turned a delightfully amusing shade of maroon.

So, instead of saying it outright, he began to think:

He pictured the letters he had sent to Tina, each with one capital letter, each connected together. He thought of the ‘E’ he had, stashed away in his case, now, for safekeeping. And he thought of giving it to Tina, along with a ring. He thought away what he’d say, about how even though they’d spent only a few days together, that this just felt _right_. That people were made to marry people they’d never even met, and they’d been writing each other for so long, and how it just made him want to know all of her: every mole, every freckle, every sad story, every happy one.

He thought of how’d he’d gently swept the hair from her face, when they’d had to say goodbye. How he couldn’t stop himself from running back.

He imagined their lives together. They were both so passionate; and he respected and admired that about her, and hoped she thought the same of him. They had careers they loved; he wanted them to have each other, too, to come home to, to work with, to help each other.

“It’s just an idea,” he murmured.

“A gorgeous idea, Newt! Oh, applesauce! Ain’t you just the cutest.” Queenie had teared up, seeing Newt’s imagined visions of himself, cradling Tina at night, wishing her well every morning as she left for work. Of them having children, even, him showing them his creatures and Tina, watching with him, her tummy swollen, and he would bend down and gently press a kiss to her stomach as their young child frolicked freely with the demiguise, the occamy, the bowtruckle.

“I wanted to ask your permission, first.”

“Of course, yes!

“That’s one hell of a sockdollager,” Jacob laughed, a little dazed.

The night had drawn in some time ago. They sat in the warm, eventually flicking on the lamp when they realised the sun had long since set. From outside, the glow of a streetlamp stretched in through the window, softly touching the side of Newt’s face aligned with the glass.

Outside, Tina stood, silhouetted at the edge of an alleyway. From behind, a streetlamp glowed a damp, dark orange, providing an outline for her body, but creating a darkness about her person which hid her face. As she stepped forward, her long coat billowed behind her.

She was surrounded by silence, and made her way home alone.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's been such a while since I've posted! This chapter is mammoth in comparison to the rest, so I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> I've just finished a short story with original characters, too, which has taken up some time. It's entitled Route 666 (hilarious, I know), and is only 1500 words or so, so if you'd be interested in reading more of my writing, please give it a look - I would love some criticism if you can spare the time :) 
> 
> Anyway - enjoy!

 

 

Tina was sat, mute and dejected, alone at the dining table when they returned. The clamour of noise quietened immediately when the group saw the bow of her head, her toes turned inward, and her coat, forgotten and left about her shoulders. It was dark, save for the glow of streetlights streaming in through the window.

Turning her head, Tina’s portrait shifted so that she was gently lit, golden-yellow light hitting the tip of her nose, her forehead, her chin. Her eyes remained shrouded in darkness. Queenie flicked on the light, and, suddenly illuminated, it became apparent that she’d been crying: her cheeks were flushed, her eyes red and inflamed. Newt’s jaw quivered at the sight, and, uncomfortable as he was, he marched to her side, and embraced her. She buried her head into the crook between shoulder and neck, and he pulled her close, stroking her hair. Newt murmured nonsense to her as she broke into sobs, trying to soothe her the way he would a labouring, exhausted creature. Behind them, Jacob and Queenie shared a knowing look.

“He got free. Picquery wants Graves and I to work out how he escaped, and where he went.” Her voice was pitched low, so as to mask her tears. Queenie moved forward, taking her sister’s hands within both of her own. Jacob watched, uncertain.

“Everything’s gonna have to change now, isn’t it?” He guessed, placing a comforting hand on Tina’s shoulder. “This isn’t just for you to bear. We were a team before, and we’ll help you again.” He gave her a gentle squeeze, and stepped back. She blinked, and inhaled one final deep, wet breath. Raising a shaky hand to smudge her tears away, she cracked a timid smile.

“We can be a team, sure. But I think we need to give ourselves a chance at rest. You’re right, Jacob – everything is about to get real muddled up.”

“I have an idea,” said Newt, eyes sparkling.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You can’t be ferrying that case all about the city,” Queenie said sternly, frowning like a mother hen.

“I have before, and I can again,” Newt pouted.

He’d suggested spending the day exploring New York; going to the spots Tina suggested, rather than where his creatures had taken him before. He’d said they should all go, but Queenie had picked up on his desire to spend some time alone with Tina. It was settled: Tina and Newt were to take today as a holiday, an initiative thought up by Jacob, who was a purveyor of the belief that good play meant better work. Queenie and Jacob were happy enough staying in together, though both would need to check in at work – Queenie to fake an illness, and Jacob to attain some assurance that his operation was ticking along smoothly.

“You trusted us with it before,” Jacob added smoothly. “You know we’ll take care of it.”

“I don’t know,” Newt stammered, conflicted.

“Stop worrying.” Tina tapped her foot, impatient. “It’ll be perfectly safe here, with these two. You know it will, so stop dilly-dallying. Okay?”

“Okay,” Newt conceded, feeling he had little other choice.

Tina smiled blindingly at him, and grabbed his hand. Together, they apparated, the spell making a sound not unfamiliar to the pop of chewing gum.

Jacob and Queenie looked at the empty space for a moment. Simultaneously, their heads turned to face one another.

Queenie’s voice was tempered with an unusual mix of wonder and wickedness. “Shall we?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They arrived in a small alleyway. Newt wasn’t sure where they would come out, but he could hear a lively hustle and bustle from the road at the far end. Behind them were rows and rows of dilapidated houses, grey in colour and desolate in appearance. Tina released his arm, but took his hand in a firm, reassuring grip, interlocking her fingers with his. He titled his head down so that his eyes could meet hers, and his gaze wandered down from there to caress her lips. She smiled.

She led him towards the busy road, leaving her hand in his so she could pull him along. He stumbled slightly, not expecting her to be so forward, but he caught up quickly and kept pace with ease. The houses seemed to loom above them, blocking out the sun; they followed the only speck of light to the end of the alley, past overflowing bins and a stray cat, which Newt stopped to pet. They kept walking, but the light didn’t seem to get any bigger, despite the fact that they were stepping ever closer. Newt paused, perplexed. “Tina?”

“Yes?”

“Where exactly are we going?”

“You’ll see,” she said with a wink.

Newt liked this carefree side of Tina. He’d only really caught a glimpse of it once before, he realised upon brief reflection, when she and her sister had song their school song for himself and Jacob, in a triflingly jovial manner. Even then, her guard had been up somewhat.

Tina stopped. Newt, lost in thought, bumped into her from behind. She stumbled in response, but Newt steadied her. She smiled up at him in thanks, before taking her hand from his. Crouching down, she used her wand to pry upon the tiny speck of light, which Newt had assumed to be far in the distance. She pulled at it until it was large enough for her to step through, at which point she gestured for him to follow her. One after the other, they clambered into the light, and it shrunk behind them, folding back into itself once more.

Unbeknownst to them, a man in a long, dark cloak stepped out from behind a bin. With a crook of his finger, he beckoned the alley cat towards him. It rubbed its head against his hand, and as he bent to run his fingers through its untamed fur, the hood of his cloak slipped back, revealing platinum hair. The man stood, the cat lining itself up next to his left foot. Then, with a click of his fingers, they disappeared.

Tina and Newt appeared at the edge of a crowd, people weaving their way through a multitude of unusually dressed shoppers. Newt was opening his mouth to ask as Tina spoke.

“This is Wolfe’s Den. It’s a small magical community, in the south of the city. It’s so named because Shikoba Wolfe, the wand maker, first started up business here. The No-Majs call it somethin’ different, but I can’t remember what. They can’t see what we see, anyways. That’s why we had to come through there,” she gestured behind them. “I came here with the school, once. Hadn’t ever been anywhere like it. We got to meet Shikoba, actually. The wands had thunderbird tail feathers in, and the studious young Thunderbird student I was – well, you can imagine how excited I was.” Tina flushed. Newt thought it to be an exceptionally pretty shade of beetroot.

They walked for a while, Tina pulling him around corners and through crowds, leading him somewhere. He assumed that it was important to her, so he didn’t ask, letting her leave it as a surprise. Their comfortable silence blossomed into easy chatter, their rhythms of speech moulding together effortlessly.

They stopped at an archaic building, grandiose in structure but otherwise falling apart. Tina towed Newt past the front door, past the gilded metalwork and religious statues nestled into the upper arches. They paused when they reached a large wall, separating the garden from the outside; Tina ripped at the ivy, and clawed her way over the stones. Newt scrambled over quickly thereafter.

They fell into a large garden, spectacular in its size. A bird bath, overgrown with weeds, stood slightly off-centre, and trees rose around every edge, crowding the wild grass and flowers. Everything was encompassed by greenery, and Newt cocked his head at the sight. This what not what he would’ve expected of his Tina, but it was a pleasant surprise.

“I don’t know who this belongs to, but it’s been empty as long as I can remember.”

“It’s beautiful,” Newt intoned, watching a small mouse scurry through the bindweed. “Very quiet.”

“I like to come here and think, sometimes. Mostly I go to the docks, when they’re very busy or totally desolate. The people moving past me make me feel more alone a lot of the time, so I can sit by myself, lost in the colours and shapes of bystanders and travellers and families, reunited.”

“That’s a lovely sentiment,” Newt murmured, standing a respectful distance behind her. He did not want to dispel the peaceful bubble that surrounded Tina, lost in thought as she was. Her voice trailed as it fell into its tangent, rolling around the garden and tumbling from one thought to the next. Without considering her action, she reached for his hand, towing him along as she spoke.

Her gestures matched the changing tone of her voice, raising in pitch and enthusiasm and lulling into contemplation. He was happy to listen – perhaps even grateful, as she shared herself so intimately with him.

Tina followed his changing expressions from the corner of her eye. To the unobservant, he may have seemed distracted, disinterested even. She knew, however, that the lingering of his gaze on one tree or stone step for minutely too long a period meant that he was focused on her, rather than where his eye line was directed.

They spoke for a while, sat nestled against one of the old stone walls, looking out across the garden they had just so thoroughly explored. Newt turned his body so that he was open, inviting; Tina nestled slowly back towards him, and rested her back against his chest. They sat as such for an indeterminable amount of time, listening to gentle rumble of each other’s voices.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“This is incredible.”

Queenie trailed her fingers along the ground where she was crouched, then stood, rubbing her fingers together. She held them up for Jacob’s eager inspection. “Look, Jacob! It’s real. How clever.”

They’d snuck straight into Newt’s case, eager to explore. Queenie had never seen a hippogriff, and the sheer ingenuity and craftsmanship of the case excited her.

They held hands as they walked, matching each other step for step, pointing out various oddities and things of intrigue. Queenie, gentle at heart, had particularly enjoyed the myriad of vials experimenting with healing potions.

They chatted amicably as they wandered, following no particular direction, just poking about in every corner. If Newt had asked, which he most likely would, they would have told him that they were checking on the animals; in actuality, they were having a good nose.

“Do you think they’re a good match?” Jacob wondered.

“Newt and Tina?” Queenie’s head was bowed, her eyes following a large dung-beetle type creature strolling past them.

“Yeah.”

“Of course I do. You should’ve seen the things he was thinkin’, honey.”

“I sure did see the way he was lookin’.” Jacob chuckled.

“They just… They just make sense to me, y’know? Tina is very emotional. Newt is very sweet. They’re both explorers. I think they’d balance each other out, but they’ve got plenty in their characters which match up. I like to think of them, old, grandchildren, settled down somewhere, maybe breeding some strange creature of Newt’s, Tina recounting her adventures to their kids and grandkids. Then when they’ve all left, they throw off the shawl from around their shoulders and the throw from their knees, and run about in the mud following the trail of some creature or person that excites them, young as they are now.”

“I’d like that for us too,” he smiled. “But with more baked goods.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You’re gonna have to trust me on this one.”

“I trust you.”

With that, Tina pushed open a heavy, wooden door. Jazz music, loud and triumphant, could be heard from down the hall.

“A bar?” Tina smiled, but kept her eyes down. Newt wondered at her unusual behaviour, until he heard raucous laughter and the slam of a fist on the table. His irrational concern for his safety distracted him as he followed her blithely into the inn.

They rounded a corner, and the corridor brightened, the walls expanded, and they fell into an unfamiliar territory for Newt: there were no elves, no giants, no pointy ears, no all-black eyes. Every inhabitant of the inn was human-sized and human-skinned, with their only variations being gender, height, and how portly they appeared about the middle.

“A muggle bar?” He asked, incredulous. But the idea appealed to him too: it was an interesting venture into another world.

“I like the anonymity of it. And the noise. And watching the men dance,” she smirked.

“Oh, no. I shan’t be dancing.”

“That’s not entirely what I meant. C’mon, let’s get a drink.”

“What should I order?” Newt stared open-mouthed at the assortment of drinks lined up behind the bar.

Tina leant across him, sweeping her eyelashes up and down. Within seconds the bartended had appeared. “Two gin rickeys, please.” She smiled, slow and powerful. His eyes followed the way her mouth traced upwards, the plump curve of her lips. He wasn’t alone – Newt was equally spellbound, though somewhat disgruntled at the way the bartender was leering at her.

“I preferred the bourbon to the gin, to be frank.” She crossed her legs at the ankle as she leant against the wooden countertop. “But it’s easier to get this bathtub gin nowadays.”

“How do you know about this place?” Newt asked as he took his drink. His hand felt clammy, and the cool of the drink and the condensation felt good against his palm.

“The prohibition doesn’t stop people from drinking. This place has been stocked up for years. I find criminals, so it wasn’t difficult to track a place like this. Besides, I like to people watch, and no-majs are so damned interesting.”

She wasn’t wrong, Newt conceded, though he felt _she_ was perhaps, indeed, the most interesting of any creature he’d come across. They sat opposite each other in a small booth, away from the melee of the bar, but close enough to overhear stray snags of conversation and laughter.

Tina nudged his shin with the toe of her boot. “Look.”

The tempo of the song had picked up, and a man swayed clumsily on his bar stool. He smiled, broad and teethy, and swept his long legs up underneath him, propelling himself to a middle-aged woman, in heeled shoes and a breezy, short dress. He stepped towards her, in time with the beat, and clasped her hand. They spun together under the dim lights, her wedding ring shining as she turned, the light catching it just-so as they moved in unison.

“It’s not quite The Savoy, but it sure is somethin’.”

“The Savoy?” Newt’s head tipped to the side, his tone inquisitive.

“A ballroom, up in Harlem. Huge, luxurious – you know the type.”

“I don’t, actually.” He smiled.

“Chandeliers as big as thunderbirds, and dinner plates the size of your head. Classy.”

As they spoke, they leant towards each other, intoxicated. Newt’s foot slipped forward under the table by accident, and touched Tina’s; neither of them pulled away. He took a sip of his drink to distract himself from the flush that began to colour Tina’s cheeks. It tasted bitter, the gin and the lime both too dry for his taste; he sipped at it regardless, and then it occurred to him:

“How did you pay for these?”

“Sometimes the men give them to me on the house. I carry a little No-Maj money with me in case, though.”

Newt was taken aback by how ferociously he felt a surge of jealousy and protectiveness over Tina. He’d never been particularly interested in women, finding the pursuit of knowledge to absorb him to a far greater extent – but now he wanted to be the one to buy her drinks, wanted to make sure no man wronged her, or even so much as looked at her again. He knew it was irrational – Tina was far more capable of taking care of herself than he ever would be – but he felt it nonetheless.

“You let them give them to you?” Newt also found himself surprised that Tina wouldn’t insist upon paying, stubborn as she was. Tina’s eyes traced the ugly pattern of the carpet as she spoke, the mannerism unusually timid.

“I’ve always been pigeon-holed. Queenie’s the pretty one, the flirt. I’m the smart one, bookish, boring.”

“You aren’t boring-” Newt began to interrupt, but Tina cut him off.

“We’re both more complex than that. Queenie’s smart. And, sometimes, I like to feel pretty.”

Emboldened by Tina’s honesty, though still carrying his usual shyness, Newt coughed. “I think you’re beautiful.” Her earlier flush deepened, spreading across her neck and right to the tips of her ears. Newt thought it was cute; Tina was complex, emotional and intelligent and loud and scared and bold. She could stand up to Grindelwald, but she couldn’t control her own blush.

“Anyone that doesn’t realise everyone is complex is ridiculous anyway,” he continued.

“That was very eloquent,” she smirked.

“You know what I mean. Nobody is just one thing. You are smart, and you are beautiful.” He’d got carried away talking, and when his mind caught up his mouth, his eyes met the floor and his blush quickly matched hers.

“You’re very sweet, Newt.”

“I’m not. People find me annoying.”

“Well, I’m not people.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Jake?”

He turned around to find Queenie stood, stock-still and spellbound, staring at a bird.

“Yeah?”

“How pretty is this Diricawl?”

“I coulda sworn that’s a Dodo, but they’re extinct. Right?” Jacob seemed to have lost his sense of belief in any and everything he had previously thought he’d known to be true.

“Oh, no, honey.” She smiled sweetly, and beckoned him over. He stepped lightly, so as to not spook the bird. He gently wrapped an arm about her waist, and she leant her head against his shoulder. “The No-Majs think they’re called Dodos, and that they killed ‘em all, but they didn’t. Wanna know why they thought that?” At his nod, she continued. “They can disappear in an instant, and reappear elsewhere. Like a Phoenix.”

“Don’t tell me they’re real, too?”

“’Course they are!” She laughed. He pulled her to his front, her head tucking under his chin, and he held her close. He inhaled deeply, her scent awash with the fresh scent of the outdoors, and the slight tang of animal dung.

“Shall we get a farm?” He chuckled. “We could have these magical creatures, and a field of cows. Some chickens running about the house. Move outta the city, head out West maybe.”

“What about the bakery?”

“Actually, you’re right. I love my bakery. We can just visit Newt and Tina. They’ll definitely have some creatures we can tend to. Non-committal animal care. I like it.”

“Me, too.” She smiled into his chest.

 

 


End file.
